Milestones
by ktface3
Summary: It's said that life is nothing but a series of significant events or days that leads a person to their future. For Pam Beesly, these are those days, written in presenttense, firstperson, and from her POV. Now complete!
1. My First Day at the Office

_A/N: this is going to be a series of significant days in Pam's life, written in first person as if it's a stream of thought or narration. Please let me know what you think of it, and if you think any of the show's episodes should be some of those 'critical days.' I have some in mind, but I'd like reader input. Enjoy!_

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I play with my fingernails as we arrive in the parking lot; I've been really eager for this day to come. I glance at Roy, and he gives me a soft smile, trying to assure me everything will go smoothly. It was a big risk moving out here to be with Roy, away from family and friends and the life that I knew, but he has a steady job here, and when an opportunity presents itself, you just have to take it. At least that's what my mom says.

My mom has always encouraged me to follow my heart, but sometimes I think I don't follow it the way she wants me to. When I first started dating Roy about five years ago, she asked if I really wanted to be seen with the 'dumb jock' type. I tried to explain that there was more to him than that—in art class junior year, he had shown me his softer side when he attempted to paint my portrait of me. The art teacher wasn't impressed with his effort, but I was, and I still have the painting stored away. But even though she knew his reputation, my mom didn't want to press the matter, and so she let it drop and just told me those words: 'just follow your heart, Pam.'

Now, my heart had led me to Scranton, to be with Roy and to take this office position at the place where he worked. I've worked as a secretary before, but I feel like this will be different. It will be fun working with him, just like in high school: we'll get to see each other everyday, have lunch together… except now when he drives me home, he will be home too. I bite my lip as I think about this, and Roy mistakes this action as nervousness. He always does, and you'd think after five years, he'd figure out that I'm excited, not nervous.

"Don't worry, Pammy," he says to me. "It's answering phones and sending out faxes, how hard can it be?"

I want to tell him I'm not worried, but I don't want to make a fuss. Instead, I reply, "Yeah.." and he continues.

"The only one you should look out for is the boss, Michael. He's.. I dunno, kind of a jerk sometimes."

"Oh.." I sigh, wondering if Roy is accurate in his description of my new boss. I guess I'll find out. We get out of the car and I kiss him sweetly before we part ways, him to the warehouse and myself to the main building. I hold the door open for a taller man with glasses and a tan suit who is also walking in, but he stops abruptly at the doorway.

"No. Please go first. You look harmless, but the statistics say that seven out of ten assaults are from the rear."

I raise an eyebrow at him as he takes the door and holds it open. I am curious about where someone even gets these statistics from but decide not to engage him, so instead I enter and walk over to the building directory to scan the company names and see where I should go.

"What are you looking for?" the tall man asks me as he presses the button for the elevator.

"Oh, um, Dunder-Mifflin?" I reply questioningly.

The elevator doors open and the man tells me to get in, "I am Dwight Schrute, their newest, and soon to be their top salesman. I started only four months ago and I already have the largest client base of everyone in sales."

I step in apprehensively and sigh, wondering how I'm going to be able to work with this strange man. I decide to be cordial and introduce myself, "I'm Pam.. Beesly, and I'm starting today.." He stares at me and I elaborate, "I'm.. the new receptionist.." I end my sentence on an upward tone like a question, wondering if he has heard anything about my position. He of course, has.

"Yes.. you're replacing Jessica. _She_ decided her _children_ were more important to her than this company.." He shakes his head in disapproval and I quickly step out of the elevator as soon as the doors open to our floor. I pray that his desk is far away from reception. He watches me judgmentally as he steps out, and I can't help but shrink back in fear. Finally, he motions to me with his arm, "Follow me. Our office is this way. Michael Scott, the regional manager, will be excited to meet you."

Dwight walks fast and deliberate, and my short legs struggle to keep up as we walk through the doors of Dunder-Mifflin. I take a deep breath as we enter the main room, and then gasp as I see a horrifying sight: there are two men in the middle of the room, one is on all fours and braying like a donkey, and the other one is standing behind him doing pelvic thrusts. The rest of the office seems to take no notice.

"Michael!" Dwight cries out as he joins the two men, helping the one off the floor. I stare at the man getting up and can't help but think, _this ass is my new boss_. Dwight pats him on the back as the other one explains their actions to him.

"Me and Michael _Snot_ here were acting out a little show we saw over the weekend. It involved a woman, a strap-on, and a donkey—"

"I saw a similar show over the weekend on my farm," Dwight commented, trying to fit in with the two of them.

"Ugh, gross. No one wants to hear about your farm animal love triangles, Dwight," the ass comments as he brushes himself off. I am now regretting taking this opportunity, because this is the last situation I expected it to be. I stand there, paralyzed with fear, knowing I can't possibly turn and walk out now. They spot me standing near the reception desk and walk over.

"Mikey likey," he gives me a suggestive look as I try to maintain control of my gag reflex. "Who's this, Dwight?"

"This is Pam, the new receptionist," he answers obediently as the man who was doing pelvic thrusts pushes past me.

"I have to go out on a sales call, and I sales call, I mean mid-afternoon brewski! Smell ya later!"

My new boss, who Roy grossly underestimated, chuckles and waves, and then comments to me, "That Todd Packer, always good for some laughs!" Being too scared to do anything else, I nod, and he puts his arm around me and leads me to the reception desk. "Now Pam, I am Michael Scott, regional manager of this _orifice_, which means you can look at me as.. your dad. You can come tell me anything, because, I want us to be friends. Maybe even more someday.."

He trails off and I stare at the carpet, the only safe place I feel I can look. I can think of at least four things wrong with what he has just said to me, and so to try and stop the harassment I quietly say, "I'm dating Roy Anderson, one of your warehouse workers.."

"Oh right, Roy.. Roy is a great guy. Really hard worker—oh, that's what she said!"

"What?" I look up at him with wide eyes and I think about how this has to be a nightmare. How did this man become a manager, and what kind of luck do I have for him to be my boss? I need someone to pinch me.

"That's—that's what she said," he says again, this time more ashamed. I tilt my head to the side and wonder if I actually made him embarrassed of his behavior. I don't think I've ever made someone feel embarrassed, and so I am pleased with myself that I have the potential to make him feel guilty; he's probably the one man who needs it most. "Um, anyway, this is your desk," he tells me as he walks me around to where I'll be sitting and answering phones all day. "I'll give you a chance to meet everyone later; we'll be having a meet-and-greet in the conference room after lunch... Until then, make yourself at home."

Michael leaves, followed eagerly by Dwight, who I now sense is his lap dog, and I hang up my coat and purse, making sure to get the candy jar I brought from home out, and plop down in my chair. I let out a deep sigh and process the last five minutes, which seem to have been the longest of my life. The phone rings and I jump a bit, startled by it. I look around and then realize that this is my job, and so I answer, hesitating a bit so I don't mess up the name, "Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam… Mom, I told you to wait to call until I got settled in…"

…

I am sitting on a chair on top of the conference room table, surrounded by my new coworkers, and I am infuriated. Roy blew me off at lunch. My first day on the job, and he blows me off at lunch to hang out with his warehouse buddies. I thought we'd be spending more time together and really be able to bond, but he excuses himself by saying, 'I'll get to see you all the time at home Pammy.' What nerve. I made sacrifices to be here with him, and he doesn't even seem to realize it. I hope he figures it out soon and apologizes.

Until then, I have decided to give him to cold shoulder, which means getting a ride home from a woman in accounting who I found out lives near me. Her name is Angela, and today I ended up eating lunch with her and another woman named Phyllis, who seems to be quite gentle comparatively. While Angela doesn't seem to approve of my 'sinful lifestyle' by living with my boyfriend, she seems like a good Christian woman who would help me out even if I was a leper, so she is glad to give me a ride home whenever I need it. I asked her if Michael is always the way he is, and all she could do was give me a stern look, implying the affirmative to my question.

On top of being stood up at lunch, my boss' idea of a meet-and-greet is not like anything I've ever experienced. I thought there'd be coffee and donuts and employees gathering to introduce themselves. Instead, this is a production of horrendous proportions, which started out with Michael showing me his piss-poor version of the Blair Witch Project and is ending with me sitting here on display for the whole office to see. I rearrange my skirt, trying not to flash the larger man from accounting sitting right in front of me as Michael talks.

"Do we know why I've decided to place Pam up on the conference room table?" he asks the employees. Several shake their heads, and finally a man doing a crossword puzzle mumbles an answer.

"Because you like to haze people," he says it half as a statement and half as a question and doesn't look up from his puzzle.

"No,_Stankley_," Michael replies. "Because Pam is our new receptionist, which means she is the friendly face people are going to see as she walks through the door, which means she is one of the most-valued members of our family." I hear several groans from all around me and realize they are used to this man's antics. I am suddenly struck with fear that one day I too will not be disturbed by him, which is something I do not want. I try to clear the lump in my throat and wait patiently for this to be over.

"I mean, I am a big support of our support staff!" Michael tries to convince his emplyees. "And Pam is the biggest support we could have, because she gives people their first impression of our company. Reception, comes from the word receive, and that means that Pam is like the gift that people get when they visit us." I listen to my boss' kind words and am now thinking he may just be misunderstood. He seems passionate about his work and the relationships he has with people in it, and I feel guilty for perhaps judging him before I get to know him. His intentions seem good.

"And what a gift she is, eh?" he continues. "I mean, look at that rack!" Oops. Spoke too soon.

"You know what, Michael? I really don't feel comfortable here.. I don't know if this will work out—" I can feel the tears well up in my eyes as the stress of my day wears down upon me, and so I carefully get down off the table and rush to the bathroom. I had so many hopes for this day, but so far everything has turned out to be one big disappointment. I sit on the couch in the ladies' room and let the tears run down my cheeks, wanting to run away from this place and forget about it forever. I see nothing positive about staying, including being with my so-called boyfriend, and the more I think about it, the more worked-up I get.

Suddenly, I hear a knock at the door, "Pammy? Can I come in?" I exhale sharply, wondering if I even can stand the sight of Roy right now, but I eventually decide it will be good for me to talk with him, so I dry my eyes and blow my nose.

"Come in," I manage to murmur, and he enters looking concerned, yet valiant. He likes to think he's my knight in shining armor always coming to my rescue, but most of the time he's wrong about that assumption. I speculate if he'll be able to save me from this place, but the odds are not stacked in my favor. His life has been here for the last three years, and I won't be able to convince him to leave just because I had one bad day here. I could always leave him, but after all the time I've put in to the relationship, I feel like I'd be throwing away something solid and steadfast. I feel stuck, and so I wait for him to say something comforting.

"I warned you, Pammy, that guy Michael is a jerk." How comforting. An 'I-told-you-so.' I slowly shake my head as Roy continues and fails to make me feel better about my situation, "But it was only your first day, and those are always hard. You'll get used to everything, I promise. And as for lunch, I'm sorry I blew you off today, but we'll have plenty of opportunities to have lunch together. And we'll _always_ have dinner together.. except on Thursdays, cause that's when me and the guys have our bar night."

Roy doesn't understand that he is supposed to be my comfort in an uncomfortable situation, and so I silently fume as he absent-mindedly hands me a fresh Kleenex. I don't think he'll ever be as sentimental as I am, and I feel a pang of hurt in my stomach that I've chosen someone like that for myself. But I consider that he does what he can for me, and he did say he was sorry, and so I look up at him and force a smile. In that smile, I have decided to stick with him, and stick with this job, no matter how appalling I may find it. "That's my girl," he gives me a hug and stands up from the couch, and I follow him back out into the office, where my coworkers are there to offer words of encouragement. I wonder where my life will lead me now that I've made the choice to be here, and I pray that it is somewhere I can tolerate.

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_Reviews appreciated!_


	2. The New Employee

_A/N: well guys, I tried going to bed, and I just couldn't. I had to write more. Sometimes you can't help when inspiration hits, kinda like writer's block. This is more… writer's flow? Anyway, I'd love some reviews and suggestions for 'significant days' that were episodes in the show. I need your input! In the meantime, enjoy!_

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I hang up my purse on the coat rack and sit down at my desk. This is starting to feel normal: I drive to work with Roy and manage to get to the office before anyone else. I turn on my computer and take my time checking my email, I make tea for myself, and I enjoy the silence of the office. Before long, Michael and Dwight come in and the chaos begins once again.

I have learned to deal with Michael in my own way, much different from my coworkers who ignore him, or Dwight, who encourages him. If he does something inappropriate, I've found that reacting with disappointment, the way a parent would react to a child, does the best job of shutting him up or getting him to stop whatever he's doing. He gets carried away all too often, and sometimes I feel more like a babysitter than a receptionist. He's learning I won't put up with it though, which makes me feel like I'm making somewhat of a difference.

The rest of my coworkers have their quirks as well. Dwight. I hang my head whenever I think of him. He acts as the office policeman, reporting anything we even _say_ that he finds offensive to Michael, like Big Brother in 1984, and Michael, in turn, treats him like a dog. I can't say Dwight is far from Doberman status. In addition, he brags about how he is superior to all of us, both physically and mentally, which can get extremely annoying to listen to.

The others in the office are much more normal, but I don't seem to connect with any of them. I enjoy Phyllis' company, but it seems like all she wants to do is gossip about our coworkers. Angela judges everything I do, and there's a woman about my age in customer service named Kelly, but she gossips as well, and her gossip mostly revolves around celebrities. My emotions aren't as invested in celebrities as hers are, so it's difficult to form a bond. And as for the men in the office, I either find them sort of boring or they want to hit on me, which I don't appreciate. So, after six months of working here, I have decided to give up on being friends with my coworkers and get through the day the best way I know how, by clinging as much as I can to Roy.

Roy has tried to be more helpful to me, and I am grateful to him for making the effort. We compromised, and so he eats lunch with me on Mondays and Wednesdays and we try to connect. I tell him all the strange events I'm witnessing at work, and he just pats me on the back and tells me, 'you'll get used to it Pammy.'

I hate that he calls me that. He thinks it's a pet name, and calls me it when he's trying to console me, which doesn't work. He has never been something special with words, so I have to remind myself that if he's saying anything reassuring at all, it's showing he cares. And he is right, I am getting used to working here, so I can't say he's wrong.

I decide today to make a stop in the bathroom to fix my hair after I begin boiling a pot of water for tea. Michael informed me yesterday that there's a new salesperson arriving today, and so I should look my best to greet him or her. His actual words were, 'make sure to look smokin hot,' but I was able to translate what he meant for my own purposes. I am actually excited, because someone new means a new dynamic in the office. I wonder what this person will be like: perhaps it will be a headstrong woman who will be able to speak up against Michael's sexist remarks and be able to say the things I want to say to him but can't. Perhaps we'll be able to bond.

I smile at myself in the mirror as I think about it and then hear Dwight's voice, "Pam? Where are you?"

I exit the bathroom and find him in the kitchen holding a power stance: legs slightly spread apart, hands at his hips, and a hardhearted look in his eyes. I sigh, "Morning Dwight."

"Morning yourself," he replies, and I stand there waiting for my unavoidable punishment. I'm not sure what it is I've done, but I know I'm about to be chastised for it. "What if I had been the new salesperson, eh? How would that look if there was no one to greet me?"

"I was just in the bathroom—" I begin, but Dwight shakes his head, not accepting that excuse. Instead I say, "Sorry," and drag myself back to my seat and begin to shuffle through faxes received after-hours from the previous night.

"Pam-o-rama!" Michael leans on my desk and startles me. I look up, ready to wince and he asks, "New employee get here yet?"

"No, Michael, but these faxes are for you." I hand him the faxes and he looks through them, making faces. I don't understand his irrational hatred of his higher-ups in the corporate office, and I feel especially bad for Toby, the human resources representative who is technically 'corporate'; Michael picks on him even more than me.

"Okay, well when he or she gets here, just show them to their desk and then inform me that they are here, capische?" I nod and he walks to his office, and I can let out a sigh. I have survived the morning interrogation.

Before long, everyone arrives and begins their work, and still there is no new person here. I become anxious, and I keep looking in the direction of the door for any sign of someone new to walk in. I have a lot of expectations of this person, and I cross my fingers that he or she will live up to the image I've created of them in my mind. Suddenly, I hear the door open and I glance at the person coming in. My expression falls; the new employee is a man. I let myself look disappointed only for a second and then put on my cheerful face to greet him. He is tall, and so I feel the need to stand to even out his gaze, but he smiles at me, and before I realize it my fake smile is turning genuine.

"Hi, I'm Jim, the new salesguy.." he says with hesitation in his voice; he should be nervous working at this office.

"Um, I'm Pam. Nice to meet you—" he shakes my outstretched hand and then spots the candy jar on my desk.

"Ooh, jellybeans." I happily motion to him to take a couple and he comments, "I can already tell I'll be spending a lot of time up here." I smile at his remark and speculate how long it will take for this guy to hit on me. I sigh to myself as I think about how cynical this office has made me about men.

"Well, let me show you to your desk," I offer. This poor man's seat is in the worst possible position, right between Michael's office and Dwight's desk, and so I falter for a moment and ponder if I should warn him about what he's in for. I decide to leave Michael as a surprise, considering my explanation would take hours, and so as an alternative, I turn to him and say, "Enjoy this moment, because you're never going to go back to this time before you met your desk mate, Dwight." His eyes widen with comical fear, and I can't help but laugh as I show him to his seat.

I pause for a moment in the middle of the room on my way back to my desk, fascinated with what is about to take place. I see Dwight staring as Jim takes off his messenger bag and jacket, sets them on the back of his chair, and sits down. He glances at Dwight and cocks his head to the side, and I can feel myself leaning forward with anticipation. I feel a little bit like I'm watching something on the Discovery Channel, and then I realize I need to close my mouth and stop gawking.

The new guy makes the first move, "Dwight, is it?" he asks coolly.

"Yes." Dwight glares at him even harder, trying to stare him down, and I disregard my manners and watch on. I wish I had popcorn.

"Hey, I'm Jim—" he holds out his hand and smiles. Rookie move. I shake my head slightly as I look on, pitying him.

Dwight squints his eyes. "I don't like you," he says frankly, which takes Jim by surprise. He leans back in his chair and glances toward me. I warned him though, so all I can do for him is hold my hands out and shrug.

"How do you know you don't like me?" he turns back to Dwight and asks. This is getting interesting; I don't think anyone has engaged Dwight in conversation like this before.

"Simple. Your hair."

"What.. about it?" he tilts forward and scratches his chin. By this point, the entire office realizes the battle of the century is occurring and they are all looking on.

"For starters, you look homeless. Not professional." We all lean in in anticipation to see what he can pull out as a rebuttal, hoping it's something good.

Jim raises an eyebrow at him, "And, I suppose a receding hair line with some pieces hanging down in the front says 'corporate salesman.'" Check. Dwight leans back in his chair, glaring even harder at the new employee.

"I don't like you," he restates louder as he leaves his desk and marches into the break room. Checkmate. The office goes back to its normal bustle with everyone chatting about the confrontation that has just taken place. I can't help but look at Jim in shock.

"That was pretty awesome," I tell him, and he replies with a shrug. I smile as I remember my hopes for a new dynamic in the office and the fact that my wish was granted, and then go to knock on Michael's door to tell him the new employee has arrived. Boy, has he ever arrived.

…

It's lunchtime, and so far, this is what I know about the new guy. His name is Jim, this is his first real job out of college, and he isn't afraid of Michael or Dwight. He even told Michael he didn't want a special meet-and-greet because 'he didn't want people making a big fuss over him,' which was, in my book, a noteworthy response to diffuse Michael's enthusiasm. I'm excited to see what effect he has on the office, because somehow I know things will never be the same after today. I ponder this as I sit at my desk, about to eat my not-lunch-with-Roy lunch: a ham sandwich, French onion chips, and a mixed berry yogurt. I am just scraping what I like to call the 'renegade cultures' from the top of the yogurt lid onto the rim of the container when I see Jim headed for my desk out of the corner of my eye, so I look up at him considerately.

"Okay, first," he says, taking more jellybeans out of my jar and holding them up before he pops them into his mouth, "these are addicting." I giggle as he tells me I have to get rid of them right away or else he'll do it for me, and I'm starting to think I may gain a friend at work after all. "And second," he adds with a note of apprehension in his voice, "This might sound weird, and there's no reason for me to know this.. but that mixed berry yogurt you're about to eat has expired."

I can't help but stare at him in astonishment and think to myself,_wow_. I feel myself blush as I check the top of the lid; sure enough, the yogurt expired five days ago. I turn back to him and he is smiling at me, and I nervously play with my hair and say, "Well.. thanks for telling me." I wonder how he knew that yogurt was expired and why he seems to make me so tense; the obvious answer to the latter is that, in one morning, he has turned this office upside down and rescued us from Dwight and Michael, which is intimidating. The less obvious answer, I don't even want to let myself slip and think about, but I know deep down it's the correct answer.

"Well I'm glad I could help," he says as he stands up straight after leaning over my desk. "Hey, since I spoiled part of your lunch now, how about you let me treat you to lunch?" I frown and glance at my clock. Four hours. It took him four hours to hit on me, and I feel my cynicism crawling back to me as I purse my lips.

"Um, I don't know—" I start to say, but he interrupts me.

"I'm just telling you now, I won't take no for an answer. I mean, I feel_really_ bad that I ruined your lunch." Wow, he is determined. I weigh the possibilities in my mind: on the one hand, I may gain a friend, which is something I never thought I'd have at work. On the other hand, I feel like I'd be leading him on, which I wouldn't want to do to him. A smile curls around my lips as I realize that I don't really have a choice in the matter though. He said he wouldn't take no for an answer, and so my hands are tied.

"Okay," I say softly, and his smile grows wider. My heart races, and I think,_oh, what have I done_…

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_Review please!_


	3. My 24th Birthday

_A/N: I have a feeling that this one will make you all feel really frustrated. Don't worry, it all works out, I promise! I'm still taking suggestions for 'significant days' from the show that you guys think I should write on, so make sure to review and tell me! Enjoy!_

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It's my birthday today. I am 24 years old, but I feel like I'm stuck in a time warp. I have been working at Dunder-Mifflin for two years now, and have been dating Roy for seven. Seven years. Seven years, and I feel like our relationship hasn't grown or changed at all. We graduated high school, got jobs, moved away from our parents, have lived together, and yet I still feel like I'm dating the football player who likes to get wasted off the beer his older brother buys for him.

Roy always rhetorically asks, 'why should things change if I like them the way they are?' Even though I know the answer to this, I don't say it because he probably will tune me out anyway, so it's like I am wasting my breath. In my mind, I always answer his question with a question: 'what is life without change?' I have always pictured myself living life as a wife and mother and living in a nice house with a terrace, but right now I feel so far away from that image and it pains me to think about it. I am craving a new chapter in my life, and there is no better time for change than on a birthday.

When a birthday rolls around, you tend to reflect on your life and find inspiration to alter it, so today, now that I am 24, I'm going to alter my own life by saying goodbye to what I feel is holding me back: my relationship with Roy. If he doesn't want to change like I do, then I will leave him in the past. I'm scared to end things with him and venture out into the unknown, but I know in my heart that a better life is waiting just around the corner. Thinking of it makes me braver, and I can hear my mother in the back of my mind encouraging me to 'follow my heart.'

I'm planning on breaking up with him over dinner at Cooper's, a seafood place in town. I feel bad doing this on my birthday, and I hope I won't look back on it with regret, but I don't think I will. I think I'll be able to look back and be proud that this is when I took charge of my life. Jim offered me encouragement in his own sarcastic way and told me, 'at least I'm not doing this on _his_ birthday.' I agree; that would be much worse.

Jim has sort of become my confidante. We talk about everything, from how annoying I find those Six Flags commercials to all my problems with Roy. It has been refreshing to talk with someone who actually listens and responds instead of someone with selective hearing, but I wish he'd open up to me a little more. I'd love to hear about some of his girl problems. I don't even know if he has girl problems, but I doubt it, which is probably why he never says anything.

I know he has Dwight problems though, which is why we've started playing pranks on him; sometimes I think it's childish, but Jim says he deserves it. I think he's a bad influence on me, because I would never do this kind of thing without him persuading me. I especially wouldn't want to get on Dwight's bad side, but Jim usually takes the fall for all our pranks, so if he wants that burden, he can have it. Today, we've locked all his desk drawers and greased their handles, and so I'm holding back a fit of laughter as he struggles to get them open with a metal ruler. I'm amazed by how coolly Jim can play it though, because right now he is the definition of naiveté.

"Dwight, what's wrong?"

"Well Jim, not that _you_ would know anything about this, but someone has locked my desk drawers and stolen the key." He wipes his brow with his greased up hand, making it even shinier than it was with just sweat on it, and then goes back to trying to pry them open, not being able to get a grip on the handles.

"And.. so why are you trying to pry them open? Just go find the key." He looks at me with a half-smile and I double-over with stifled laughter. The key is directly in front of Dwight, taped to one of his bobbleheads.

Dwight gives him an angry glare, "If I knew where the key was, I wouldn't be bothering with this nonsense."

"You know grasshopper, sometimes what we find ourselves searching for is right in front of us." Dwight stops trying to use the ruler as a crowbar and looks frantically all over his desk. Finally he finds the bobblehead and gives Jim a severe look, and he responds by shaking his head, "That guy should get a talking-to for stealing your key." Dwight unlocks the drawers and tries to open them, but the handles are still too oily. They should be after I used a whole bottle of spray shortening on them, and so I can't help but smile at my handiwork.

"Pam-o-rino!" Michael calls to me as he walks out his office with a big, stupid grin on his face and I try not to show too much interest in him, for fear he will make me do something for him or he'll say something inappropriate to me. I'm trying to enjoy my first day of being 24 while I can. "What kind of cake do you want for your birthday?" he asks, and I'm surprised he's letting me choose.

"Um—"

"Ooh, how about an ice cream cake?" he suggests, and there it is. I knew he would only ask for the sake of asking; it's so typical of him. I nod graciously and he responds, "Great! Wanna go get one at lunch? You're on the Party Planning Committee and all..."

The Party Planning Committee is the bane of my existence. Michael put it together because he wanted to make sure we had all sorts of unnecessary celebrations. He put Angela in charge, which I thought was fine until we had out first meeting. It turns out she's a huge control freak, and now I have the deepest sympathy for the other accountants, Oscar and Kevin.

Our meetings consist of Angela telling us what we will do for the upcoming party. She chooses the theme, the activities, and the food, and then will hand out tasks to us. We have no creative license with our tasks whatsoever, or else she swears she will make our lives a living hell. I bet she can do it too; she's read the bible enough that she knows what a living hell would look like. But basically, by having this committee, we create more work for ourselves.

I force a smile at Michael and he says, "Great! Your party, milady, will begin at one, as soon as you return from the store with the ice cream cake." He walks away and my smile drops into a look of irritation. I can sense Jim looking at me, and I know he's going to want to tag along with me. I sigh and look back at him, shaking my head, and he motions with his hands, asking me if I want to get out of here. Is he kidding? Absolutely I do.

…

"So, tell me again why you're getting ice cream cake, which you don't even really like, for your own birthday party." I know what he's doing. He's trying to get me to stand up for myself and get the cake I really want instead of the one Michael wants. I look at the cakes on the refrigerated section and spot a yellow cake with chocolate frosting, and sigh as I think of Roy. He's a lot like the ice cream cake I hold in my hands: it's not yellow cake, but I'm not going to be picky about it, because that's how I end up with no cake at all. I'm scared to end up with no cake.

"It's just a cake," I reply, brushing off the subject. I can see frustration in Jim's eyes and I'm pondering why he even cares at all. I know what will satisfy him though, and so I tell him, "Look, I'm already breaking up with my boyfriend of seven years tonight to go looking for something I don't even know is out there, so just gimme a break, okay? Now, I need to find candles.." I hear Jim mutter something under his breath and so I lean in and ask, "What was that?"

"Oh, um," he looks sheepish, so I obviously wasn't supposed to hear whatever he said. It makes me wonder why he bothered to say it out loud. "Uh, sometimes, what we find ourselves searching for is right in front of us.. grasshopper." He picks up a package of candles, and he moves me along to checkout.

Sometimes I'll catch him saying things like that or looking at me strangely, and it makes me uneasy, because I feel almost transparent when he does it. He knows how to look into my soul almost, and is able to tell me exactly how I'm feeling or what I want. No one knows how to read me like he does, which is good most of the time. At times like this though, they upset me and make me want to smack him on the back of his head.

…

"Happy birthday, dear Pam.. happy birthday to you!" Michael hits the highest note in his register and I cover my ears. Is falsetto really necessary? I blow out the candles and Phyllis begins to cut the cake. She passes me a piece, which I grimace at but then take a bite. It's tolerable, and so to be polite I give Michael the thumbs up and shove another bite in my mouth.

"Pam, you know who else was born on your birthday?" Kelly tugs on my arm and asks me. I shake my head and she tells me, "Tammy Faye Bakker! Ugh, she is so sad."

I nod and inquire, "Oh, because of her cheating husband? Or the embezzlement scandal she was involved in?"

"No! Because she wears all that awful makeup! Sorry you don't have anyone better born on your birthday.."

"Thanks, Kelly.." I continue the small talk with my coworkers, becoming increasingly bored with my own party. I'm not allowed to leave though, because it's Angela's orders. Then I see Jim coming in, carrying something behind his back and a smile forms on my face. I wonder what he has that he doesn't want me to see. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but if I had to guess I'd say he has a birthday present for me. "Hey.." I try to not sound too excited, and he leads me to a corner of the conference room and pulls out a white box from behind his back. I knew it.

"Don't get too excited," he tells me, but he knows better than to say that; I'm excited he got me anything at all. I open the box and inside is a yellow cupcake with chocolate frosting piled on the top. I look up at him with wide eyes, half shocked and half ecstatic, and all he can do is smile back at me and raise his eyebrows. "Enjoy," he says casually and leaves me with my cake to get something to drink. I look down at the little cupcake and bite my lip as I think about how I didn't even need to search to find the cake I wanted.

…

I sit down with Roy in a booth at Cooper's and we order drinks. I don't want to order dinner, because I fear I'll chicken out and I'll be stuck being Roy's girlfriend forever. I want this over with, and so I take a deep breath and can hear myself beginning to speak, "Roy, I think we need to talk."

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

I stare at my napkin and continue, "We've been dating for.. seven years. Which is a really long time to be dating—"

"Yeah, I know," he exhales, and I detect a hint of nervousness in his sigh. I wonder if he knows what I've been planning. I wonder if he knows I have Angela standing by to pick me up and let me stay at her place, or if Jim has said anything to him about it. I look up cautiously and see he's smiling at me, and I'm thrown off by it. Why is he smiling? "Pam, seven years is too long for you to wait to be just my girlfriend. And I wanted to wait for a special occasion, so.. okay, I don't have the ring yet, but I want to ask you if you'll marry me."

I can feel my mouth hanging open, and so I quickly shut it and clear the enormous lump in my throat. What did he just say to me? He wants to ask me if I'll marry him. I'm analyzing his poor choice of words instead of doting on his proposal, but then I realize that he's offering me change, commitment, and finally taking the next step in our relationship. I will be his fiancé and then his wife, instead of just his girlfriend, and I can feel myself smiling as I think about the house with a terrace that now seems in reach.

"So.. ask me," I tell him, beaming from ear to ear.

"If I ask, you're gonna say yes, right?"

I can't help but laugh at him, "Of course I'll say yes. Why else would I tell you to ask me?"

"I dunno… So Pam, would you marry me?"

"Of course I will." We both slide out of the booth and kiss passionately as people around us applaud. I feel deliriously happy for only one reason: I have cake. He may not be the ideal cake, but he's _my_ cake, and I'm thankful for him.

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_I want reviews!_


	4. Our Engagement Party

_A/N: this chapter is really introverted, and so I hope all the emotions come through. I felt like I had to address the problem of why the heck they have waited so long to get married, and this is my solution. Please review, and give me specific reviews, cause I'm really wide open as to where I want to take this. Enjoy!_

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I watch as Roy slowly sifts through a sea of gifts in our living room, carefully taking a mental inventory. We just had our engagement party, and several people brought gifts for us that we may as well have gotten at the wedding—a toaster oven, cutlery, and picture frames, just to names a few. I glance down at the white gold band on my finger with demure, round-cut diamonds on it and smile. This is what I've always wanted—to be somebody's, and for me to have somebody—and now that dream is finally coming true.

Things have moved pretty quickly since the proposal three weeks ago. We picked out the ring together, and I'm glad for that, because Roy doesn't have much taste in rings. He suggested getting the gaudiest ones, which he only wanted because they were cheaper, but I told him I would wear this for the rest of my life, so it's worth paying so much money for. I don't know what I would've done if he had presented me with one of the rings he pointed out.

The engagement party was my mom's idea. She wanted to drive down for the weekend and have a big celebration, which included a nice dinner with her and my dad and then a big bash the next day at our house, which she planned all herself. It upset me a little when Roy said he didn't want to participate in the festivities though; he called these kind's of parties 'girls' stuff,' and instead went to Poor Richard's with his buddies and watched sports. Now that he's seen the pile of gifts we've received though, his interest level has been piqued.

"Who gave us _this_ one?" Roy asks as he holds up a box of Sennelier watercolors, easily a hundred-dollar item, and I blush, looking away and pretending to admire a set of coasters.

"Oh, um.. Jim did." I murmur, and he sets the box down and moves on to another item.

"Guess he didn't get that he was supposed to get us gifts we could _both_ use.." He presumes as he looks at a pair of champagne glasses.

I bite my tongue and reply, "Guess not," and put the coasters down. I see Jim's gift as a silent protest: he was really upset with me when I not only didn't break up with Roy, but also got engaged to him, which I can kind of understand. Here I was, ready to give him up, and then I do a complete 180 and promise to be his wife.

"_Why?"_ He asks me, and all I can present to him is that Roy offered me commitment, which is what I wanted from him. _"But what about taking control of your life?"_ This question, I have an answer for that I know deep down is a cop-out. All I can tell him is that I didn't need to take control of my life, because I ended up getting what I wanted from the life I have. It's not a very good argument, and whenever I think about it I feel doubt in the pit of my stomach. Jim is very good at making me feel guilty, and buying me the set of watercolors instead of a gift for both Roy and I is just another one of his tactics.

He always sees me doodling, but he's only recently taken a real interest in my art. He'll see me working on something at my desk and come to spy on me, and sometimes will bring me several different shades of highlighters to color my drawings in. He even has one attached to his computer monitor: it's profiles of Phyllis and Dwight sitting in the conference room that I did during a meeting. I feel proud that he wants to display it, especially since it's of Dwight, but he says my drawings are really good.

"I'm going to fix dinner," I announce to Roy and move into the kitchen. "What do you want to eat?"

"Eh, I dunno. What were you thinking of fixing?"

I think for a moment of what he could want to eat. "Chicken?" I ask, and he gives me an affirmative grunt, so I pull out a package of chicken breasts from the fridge. I start to prepare them with seasoning and try to make small talk, "So.. Have you thought about when you want the wedding to be?"

Roy comes into my line of sight and gives me a look like I'm crazy. "Why would I start thinking about that?"

"Well, I just thought it was natural.. _I've_ always dreamed of a spring wedding, when flowers are in bloom.. But winter would be pretty too, like with light snow falling—"

"I like fall," Roy interrupts and tells me.

"Fall could be nice," I try to convince myself more than I try to make conversation, and Roy shrugs and turns on the TV. He does this whenever he thinks our conversation is over, and it annoys me to no end. We certainly haven't agreed on a fall wedding, much less talked over any details, but when he says fall, he thinks his word is final and it's the end of the discussion. I walk back into the living room and turn off the TV and Roy looks up incriminatingly at me, so I ask, "How does September sound?"

"_This_ September?"

"Yes.."

He exhales loudly and scratches his brow, "That's less than a year, Pammy.. doesn't it take longer than that to plan a whole wedding?"

"It can be done.." I try convincing him, but I know he's worried about more than just pulling the wedding together in such a short time. I raise an eyebrow and ask, "How long did you think it would take?"

"Honestly," he hesitates, and I brace myself for the news, "I thought it would take over a year to get everything done." Is he serious? Weddings get planned in _weeks_ sometimes, and he wants to wait over a year? It'd be more like a year and a half if he really wants a fall wedding, and I furrow my brows in disappointment of this realization. I'm starting to think the gold band and the sea of presents may be the only changes Roy is willing to make for me at the moment.

He can see the discontent in my eyes though, and so he tries to comfort me, "If we wait, we can make sure everything is the way we want it.. or, the way _you_ really want it, because _you're_ the one who cares about it so much." Once again, he has done a stellar job of trying to be consoling, because I am now more enraged than ever.

"Do you _not_ care about it?"

"About the wedding? Not—really.."

"Roy.." I start and sigh, my eyes wide with fear. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it is stubborn and stays stuck, almost choking me. "This is a celebration of the start of our new life together; how can you not care about it?"

He shrugs and turns the TV back on, and then tells me, "I just think it's unnecessary. I mean, we know we're starting a new life, so why do we need to spend a lot of money to let other people know it?" I can't believe him. He doesn't seem to understand that this is important to me, the one he supposedly wants to start this new life with, so why doesn't he want to make me happy? I give him a glare and grab the keys to his truck. He stands up, ready to stop me, but I am already out the door. I give him the finger on my way out.

…

I'm driving Roy's truck in the pouring rain, thinking of who I can call on to vent. My mom isn't home yet and doesn't have a cell phone, so she is unfortunately not the best choice. I feel like I can't call Jim because he's mad at me, and even though Roy's being selfish, I would still want to work things out with him. Jim wouldn't want me to work things out, and I don't want to hear any of his persuading words at the moment, so I decline to call him. I just need to be alone with my own thoughts to process, and so I decide to go to Poor Richard's for a drink.

I pull the car into the parking lot and rush inside, trying to avoid the rain. The bar is somewhat crowded, and I make my way to the counter to order myself a beer. I find an empty booth near the jukebox and stare out the window at the rain beating down. My thoughts drift from the chicken in our frying pan that Roy has probably forgotten about and is now charred up,, to how the breaks on the truck need to be oiled up because they squeak, to finally my house with a terrace. I linger on these thoughts for quite a while as my eyes drift from the window to the ring on my finger, and I wonder what it really signifies to Roy.

When Roy looks at the engagement ring he bought for me, does _he_ see a house with a terrace? Does he see me on the terrace, tending to a garden and painting him a masterpiece with my watercolors? Does he see children in the house, running around and making a mess? Does he see us getting mad at our kids and craving anything to have a second alone with each other? Does he see us laughing from being too tired to cry? Does he see us growing old together, and looking in each other's eyes with only a look of unending appreciation for each other? Does he see the rest of our life when he looks in the glitters of my ring, or does he only see a wedding that will be unnecessarily expensive in time, money, and energy?

I sigh and take another sip of beer as I ponder this, and finally it comes to me that I could never ask him these questions. First, I rationalize to myself that he could never understand what I mean when I ask him what he sees in my ring. He'd take it literally, and zoom in on my ring for a close-up, only to come up with nothing but a shrug. And also, if he did understand what I was trying to ask him, he would more than likely only see the bill that is going to come every month for him to pay for it. A bill that I hope won't be paid in-full by the time of the actual wedding, because I simply do not want to drag this out more than I have to.

I look up, thinking about what I have just told myself: I don't _want_ to drag this engagement out. I'm such a hypocrite. Here I am, calling Roy selfish and asking him to compromise when I am really only asking him to comply with what I want. I'm selfish. _I'm_ selfish. I look again at the ring on my finger and think about all the compromises he's already made for me, and I can feel pangs of guilt rising in my stomach. I leave my beer and enter the cold rain again, needing to go home to him and tell him I'm sorry. I get into the truck and speed off.

…

I enter slowly and see Roy in the kitchen, scraping away at the pan the chicken was cooking on. It smells like it burned, and so I am cautious not to startle him as I set my purse down. He looks mad, but doesn't notice me, and so I softly call out, "Um, Roy?"

He shoots a glare at me, and I can feel the pangs of guilt again. He continues to clean as he asks sarcastically, "Back so soon?"

"Roy, I'm sorry." I go to him and wrap my arms around his waist, and he doesn't react to my affections. "I shouldn't have stormed out like that, and I should've tried to compromise on the wedding instead of just insisting things go my way.."

He stops sets the pan and scrubber down and turns into me, "I'm glad you finally see things that way Pammy. I just wanted you to understand how I feel."

I try to forget that I noticed he didn't say he was sorry as well, and I continue the speech I planned out in my head, "I think a fall wedding would be nice. And we can wait a year and a half to make sure everything is perfect—we can even wait longer if you want—but you have to take an interest in _something_ concerning the wedding, okay?"

He is silent for a moment, and then asks, "Can I pick out the band?"

I smile, knowing we've finally come to a compromise. "Definitely." He kisses me on the forehead and my mood continues to improve. I may not be getting what I want right away, but I am willing to sacrifice for what I see in my ring.

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_Please review, and be specific!_


	5. The Day Before The Cameras

_A/N: I'm really interested to see what you guys will think of this chapter. Several people suggested I write something like this, so I hope it's what you guys are expecting. I still had to keep it in the realm of Pam making big decisions that affect her life, so like all my other chapters, that's how this wraps up. Just a warning though, it's not a big change like some other chapters were. Where am I going with this? I don't know! Give me suggestions! Enjoy!_

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"Good morning Pam." I smile cordially at Peter, the network executive, and ask him if he or the woman with him want anything to drink. They say they're fine, so I lead them into the conference room to wait while everyone gathers. Our office has been chosen to be filmed for a reality TV show about life in a typical American office, and tomorrow is the first day of filming. Today, we're handing over the contracts that were given to us a few months ago, as well as going through some final preparations on what to expect from the camera crew.

I really don't know how I feel about being filmed for a TV show: on the one hand, I guess it's flattering to be chosen out of hundreds of other offices because it means our office must seem interesting enough to film, and I can certainly believe it with everything Michael does on a regular basis. We're also getting reparation for the 'inconvenience' of having a camera crew disrupt our work, which I don't see as much of an inconvenience, but could certainly use with a wedding to pay for… Well, a potential wedding.

Roy just pushed back the date of our wedding again. It was going to be this September, because last September we didn't have enough money for a 'proper' honeymoon, but now he's pushed it back to spring. He thinks I may be right in wanting a spring wedding, which I did used to want; now I'll settle for any wedding at all. We recently passed the three-year mark since he proposed, and I'm starting to get the same feelings as I did when we were dating and I never thought he'd propose. It does seem like he's dragging his feet a little.

The down side of being on a reality TV show will be just that: everyone will see that Roy isn't willing to fully commit to me, and I feel like it'll be embarrassing for people to watch it and see how pathetic I am to wait around for him. I certainly don't want them to pity me, but I don't know how the network people will make our engagement look, so it's hard to say. I hope today they can address these concerns. I sit down next to Jim in the conference room and scan around, and it looks like everyone is a little uneasy about this undertaking. I'm glad I'm not the only one feeling apprehensive.

"Did you sign your contract?" Jim asks me as he nervously fiddles with his own.

"Yep. Did you?"

He half-smiles at me and replies sarcastically, "Uh, nope. I think, I'm going to have to leave Scranton, because I don't really want to participate." He raises his eyebrows at me and I give him a smack on the arm; he knows he's not supposed to ever joke about leaving, because I don't know what I'd do without him here. As soon as everyone is settled, Peter gets our attention.

"Alright," he begins, "Hi everyone. I hope you're all excited, cause tomorrow is the big day!" We all applaud anxiously and Peter continues, "Now, today what I want to take the time to do is answer any final questions you may have about your contracts, and then we're going to talk about interviewing, okay? So, does anyone have a concern about anything in their contract before you all turn them in?"

I raise my hand and flip to the page. Roy and I took our contracts to his cousin, who is a lawyer, and she told us to ask about this. Peter calls on me and I inquire, "Um, it says you'll be filming 'all office-related material,' but it isn't defined what office-related means.."

"Okay, great question. For the most part, we will be filming inside this office within the work hours, but there are some exceptions. For example, filming.. in the parking lot at any time is fair game. Filming outside the premises on work time is fair game.. get it?" Before I can respond, he continues, "But! If there is something work-related going on outside the parameters of both those time and place conditions, then we'll have a instance-specific contract for everyone involved to sign, stating that the circumstance is suited for filming. Say, Michael throws a party for everyone in the office at his house, after-hours—"

Michael of course interrupts, "Yeah! Parrrrty! Woo! Let's get drunk and make some bad decisions!!" and all we can do is sigh and shake our heads. Peter, who has been in the office several time before, isn't phased by Michael's comment; the woman who came in with him though, has a dismayed expression on her face and makes a record to herself in her notebook.

Peter continues, "Now, we can't go in and film the party until everyone at that party has signed our instance-specific contract stating they are comfortable with us being there recording them, and it is illegal for us to do otherwise. Does that make sense Pam?" I nod my head and Peter moves on to other questions.

I breathe a sigh of relief and stare at my contract. Roy's cousin warned us that our situation was unique because we're engaged in addition to being coworkers, so her fear was the camera crew may want to delve into our personal life as well as our professional ones. It doesn't sound like that's the case though, and I would never sign one of those circumstantial contracts allowing the cameras into our house, so I feel like I can hand over my contract without worry now.

I glance up at Peter, who is collecting contracts, so I hand mine over to him. Jim nudges my side and says, "Congratulations, Beesly, we've just signed our lives away." I can't help but giggle, and then I stop when I see the woman jotting down more notes.

"Okay everyone, now I'd like to introduce you to Claire. She will be the interview facilitator, and I know she has a few things for you, so, Claire?"

The woman standing next to Peter steps forward and gives us a friendly smile, "Hi everyone. Like Peter said, I'm Claire. I'm a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, which means I study relationships.. mostly within families, but, uh, also within groups such as yourselves. And basically the network has hired me to give my professional opinion on what relationships would be the most interesting to film, and also to help you all feel comfortable with the interview process…"

I go over in my mind what she has just told us, and can't help but speculate what relationships in this office could be interesting to viewers. I tune back in to her as she continues, "Now, in order for this show to be as realistic as possible, I want you all to feel at ease with sharing your thoughts and feelings with me when I interview you. Sometimes, my questions or comments may be blunt, but this is how _I_ feel—and how the network feels—that we will get the most accurate and genuine responses. You can of course decline to comment on anything you do not feel comfortable talking about, but, as it states in your contract, anything we record, interviews included, is fair game to be used for the show. That being said, does anyone have any questions?"

The room is silent as everyone tries to process everything she's just told us, and finally, Dwight asks, "Question: what qualifies you to judge our relationships?"

"Do you mean, besides that I have a Ph.D. in Marriage and Family Therapy, I've written several books about the nonverbal language of the different genders, and I've had a private marriage counseling practice for fifteen years? Besides all that?"

Jim and I exchange an impressed glance and look on as Dwight fumbles for words. He manages to mutter a "yes," and Claire can't help but give him an incredulous look. She sounds _really_ qualified to analyze our relationships, and so I'm officially intimidated. She manages to sense this from everyone in the room though, and so she tries to put us at ease, "But please understand, I'm not here to 'judge your relationships.' I am here to help you explore your own work lives and gain a better understanding of the people in your ecosystem… And, make good television. So that's why, I have these questionnaires for you to fill out, and then what I'd like to do is conduct some preliminary interviews with you, so when the cameras come tomorrow I can suggest people to focus on and film."

She hands out the questionnaires to us and we begin filling them out. I wonder what she'll gain from knowing things like, 'who is your greatest ally in the office?' Or 'what is the last confrontation you have had with a coworker?' I quietly fill out the form and can sense Jim looking over my shoulder, so I swiftly turn my head towards him to catch him spying. He's too quick for me though and has resumed writing, so I return to my form and casually bump his knee with my own to let him know I'm onto him.

After I fill out my form, my work goes back to normal for a while: I check my messages, I play some FreeCell, and I slowly arrive back at the monotony that is my workday. By this time, everyone else is back at their desks and Peter and Claire are looking over our questionnaires in the conference room. Angela comes to my desk and hands me a card with a cat on it, and when I open it I find out it's a party for one of her cats on Sunday.

"I hope you can make it," she smiles at me, and I nod as she walks away. There is no way I'm going to a party for a cat, and I glance at Jim, who is just receiving his invitation and looking like a deer in headlights; I try to stifle my laughter as he glances over at me. Angela makes her way around to everyone else and Jim comes up to my desk to steal a jellybean from the jar.

"So how did you define 'confrontation' on your questionnaire?"

I bite my lip and think for a moment, "For that question, I talked about a couple days ago when Michael kept calling reception and harassing me as different characters.."

"Ooh, good one."

"Yeah… I put Michael as my 'greatest antagonist' in the office," I shrug and admit to him. "I hope they don't tell him that.."

"Hey, confidentiality, right?"

I love the confidentiality rule, because it means I can vent all my frustrations about Michael to these people and they can't tell anyone about it, unless the cameras are on me of course. I reply to Jim, "Yeah, I guess."

"I, obviously put Dwight all over that form. For the confrontation one, I talked about how Dwight smacked my ass after we landed a big account on that team sales call."

"He—he smacked your ass?" I try to whisper, making a grimacing face.

He scratches the back of his head and takes another jellybean, "Nah. It's just an experiment to see if they'll ask him about it."

"Well, I hope they do! Best of luck on that."

"Thanks," he laughs and returns to his seat, and then I see Michael coming out of his office and heading for my desk. I brace myself for whatever nonsense he has coming for me and start absent-mindedly typing something on my computer.

"So Pam, what'd you put for that one question?"

I try to ignore him and continue typing. "Um, what question?"

"You know.. have you had any _office romances_?" I turn curtly and stare at him and he continues, "You know.. cause you're engaged to Roy.."

"I know Michael—"

"Give 'em any juicy details on your sex life?" He's trying to constrain his laughter and so I just sigh and shake my head. Luckily Peter and Claire come out of the conference room and call my name for an interview, so I rush to them to get away. I sit down in a chair in front of the windows facing the office and Claire sits directly in front of me. Peter says goodbye to us and leaves with our contracts.

"Okay Pam," Claire says with a smile, looking over my form. "I told Peter I'd rather do these interviews alone if that's ok. Network executives don't need to know all the personal details, right?" I laugh politely and find myself reevaluating her; she seems rather friendly and understanding instead of intimidating, so if she wants to make me feel comfortable, then she has done her job.

She looks up from my questionnaire and begins her interview, "So, you are the receptionist, which probably means you come into contact with everyone in the office.."

"Yeah, um, if someone ever needs to fax something, or.. shred something.. they come to me." I play with the ring on my finger and smile nervously as I wonder what she's picking up on from watching me.

"Do you have any other ambitions or goals—" Her eyes light up, "Oh, you're engaged!" Shoot. That was dumb to play with my ring. Of course she'd notice that.

"Yeah.. he actually works here too—"

She glances down at my form again, "Right! It says right here in the 'office relationships' section, you checked 'yes'…" She takes out her notebook and compares her records to my form and then goes on, "And, I think that is great. Really. You both just look so happy together, laughing and joking around. He really seems to be attentive to you too….. What?"

I am giving Claire the most confused expression I can, and all she is capable of ask me is 'what'. I decide there has to be a misunderstanding, so I politely ask, "Uh—I'm sorry. My fiancée works in the warehouse—"

"What?" she asks again, now realizing she's made an obvious error. "Oh gosh, I'm—I'm really sorry. Wow, this isn't a good foot to start out on.." She begins shuffling through the forms, noticeably frazzled. "You know, you hear a thousand times in this line of work to never to assume anything, and you think you know the lesson, but then you forget yourself—"

"Um, it's okay.." I try to smile at her and she chuckles back at me, embarrassed. She sighs and puts her papers back in order, and then I become curious, "If, you don't mind me asking, who did you _think_was—"

"Oh, um," she holds up my form and smacks herself on the head with her free hand, "your.. 'greatest ally,' Jim—"

"Jim?"

She looks at my form again, "Yeah, uh—Again, I'm sorry to assume. I just.." I watch her struggle for words, and I don't think I could feel more awkward in my own body if I tried. She thought Jim was my fiancée. Wow. And, as if that weren't enough, I just signed a legally-binding contract saying she could ask me probing questions about my relationships with coworkers. Perfect. Just perfect. I don't know what I can say to her now except ask her to explain herself.

"Why.. would you think that?"

She sighs, looking uneasy, "Well, it was—like I said. You two seem to have great chemistry, and.. just, give off body language that would suggest there's something there."

I suddenly realize I have bigger problems than an inquisitive interviewer, because she's managed to pick up on something I've been denying to myself since the day I met Jim. He's cute. There's no getting around that. And we seem to innately understand each other and can make jokes with each other. And I've always entertained the thought that if the circumstances were different, there could be something there… But I have a fiancée! I have a fiancée, who I love and hopefully am getting married to soon, so I have to make sure she doesn't assume anything like that ever again.

"Are you okay?" Claire asks, and I look up at her with fear in my eyes. She laughs at me, "Oh honey, you look so worried. Please don't be; there are no cameras on us right now, so there's no need for anyone to ever know about this. Can we just call it cold feet and move on?"

I nod and then she begins to ask me questions all about my relationship with my 'greatest ally in the office,' as well as my other coworkers. Through the entire interview I stare everywhere but in her direction, wondering why she's so interested in my friendship with Jim; after all, that's all it is, or that's all I've been trying to convince myself that it is all this time. But there's no fooling Claire now, and so all I can do is hope she doesn't suggest they focus on me when the cameras come tomorrow. Before I know it, my interview is over and she's thanking me for my time.

"Pam? You still look worried.. Look, I promise _not_ to hint to the cameras to keep an eye on the two of you or anything. I am just here to observe. But my hands are tied if we capture something on film—"

"I know," I almost whisper, still looking at the floor.

"And if you ever need to talk—about your engagement or your coworkers—we can set up a private session that is compensated by the network.. so I encourage you to take advantage if you ever feel the need."

"Thanks." I leave the conference room, still trying to process what has just happened. She knows that I just want to be friends with Jim, but she also knows there's potential for more than just friendship. Have I finally admitted that to myself? I feel a sense of pride in coming to terms with it, but I can barely look at him as I walk back to my desk. I feel the need to avoid him until I can figure out how to set up some boundaries and figure out what qualifies as just friendship and what is not. Maybe I'll take Claire up on her offer.

"Creed Bratton?" Claire calls, and she gives me a wink. I have assurance in her discretion now, and pray that Jim feels the way I do about our friendship so we aren't thrown into the spotlight. We'll see how we do with the cameras tomorrow.

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_Do I need to even ask? Review!_


	6. Saturday Mornings

_A/N: this chapter isn't really a pivotal choice that Pam makes from a certain event; I see it more as time she always has to reflect and that she'll remember those times collectively. I'm not gonna lie to you though, I love it. I hope you do too. Enjoy!_

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I sit down in a chair on the small slab of concrete in our backyard and set up my pencils and easel. The sun is just coming up over the trees, and it shows itself brightly through them to highlight my surroundings. I'm reminded of Pablo Picasso and what he said about the sun: 

_There are painters who transform the sun to a yellow spot, but there are others who, with the help of their art and their intelligence, transform a yellow spot into the sun._

I wish silently that my art reflects intelligence, and with that small morning prayer said, I begin to sketch. I'm starting with the branches of the trees and slowly my mind drifts to Roy, still sleeping in our bed. He didn't even stir when I slipped out of bed to make a cup of coffee, which now sits on the ground beside me, and is undoubtedly losing heat with every passing second. He's going to the lake with Kenny today for some 'male bonding time,' but that isn't for a few more hours. I say, let him sleep.

I enjoy these Saturday mornings to myself to think about things. I think about Roy a lot when I'm out here, perhaps because he's just inside sleeping like a baby. When I wake up this early, sometimes I like to look at him and try and remember the Roy I knew from high school. I can look at his face and remember how he brought me orange roses for our senior prom, and seemed very nervous as he slipped them on my wrist. I can remember the first time he left his group of friends to say hi to me at my locker, which meant he wanted his friends to see I was someone worth talking to. I can remember how happy he was to see me after I got back from a trip to Florida with my family for spring break. These happy memories help keep my spirits up for when he's awake.

Roy looks different when he talks to me now. There's no excitement to see me anymore, and his attempts to make conversation with me feels forced. He _has_ to talk to me, because I'm his fiancée. I've been his fiancée for three years, and his girlfriend for ten. I've given ten years of my life to him, and he should appreciate me enough to want to talk to me or see me.

Sometimes I wonder if Roy and I are meant to be together at all. He doesn't seem to want to talk to me about how things are at work, or what I've been sketching lately, or even how my trip to the supermarket was. It upsets me that he doesn't even show interest unless he thinks he's getting sex or food. The sex is forced, just like the conversation, except I'm the one who has to try to seem interested in sex. Most of the time I end up picturing McDreamy instead of Roy in order to be aroused, and I find myself saddened by it. He should make an effort to try and please me so I don't have to picture other people, especially fictional doctors.

I lift the pencil off the easel, realizing I'm pressing too hard on the page. The more intense my thoughts get, the more severe I seem to sketch. Ok, no more thinking of Roy for a while. I start on the ground line and make small strokes with my pencil to create grass and my mind drifts to what seems to be the only other part of my life: work. I don't mean it to be only Roy and work, but being at work all day and having to be with Roy all night doesn't leave too many chances for other activities. I've been pondering looking into taking art classes, but I doubt Roy would let me spend the money on those.

Michael beat up Dwight yesterday. I chuckle quietly to myself as I think about it, even though I know it's mean to laugh at them. It was amazing though! They both looked like idiots trying to kick each other, and then Michael just went for it and attacked, pinning Dwight to the ground and spitting in his mouth. Ugh! Gross.

I feel a little responsible because I instigated the whole event. Dwight was showing off his purple belt to everyone and I asked Michael if Dwight could protect me when I walked to the car so late at night. I only asked him that because he hadn't signed all those forms yet, and I knew he was going to put it off until the last possible second, so I would be there after dark. He didn't even end up signing the forms himself this time—we all forged his signature—which means we'll have to wait another year for the perfect storm to come back around.

Why is Michael so unmotivated to do actual work? He seems so eager to show off to Claire and the cameras and to make all of us try to be friendly with each other by having celebrations for people and events which we shouldn't even be celebrating. I like the break from work once in a while, but it seems like he's always slacking off and bugging us with his nonsense.

He'll surprise me sometimes though, by closing a big sale or taking initiative on a project from corporate, and I can't help but wonder if I have him totally wrong. I still think about the ass I saw on my first day of work and speculate of _that's_ the real Michael Scott, or it is the passionate, sincere individual that he can be only on the rarest of occasions. My only clue is that he seems to work for what he cares about, so he must care about us, his employees, to make us do so much team-building and celebrating of each other.

After beating him up, he finally promoted Dwight to Assistant Regional Manager, instead of Assistant _to the_ Regional Manager, which aside from Dwight getting Michael's position, is his dream come true. I'm glad he let Dwight retain some of his dignity that way, and it makes me see more of the caring Michael through all the 'that's what she said' jokes.

I'm hoping Dwight's new title doesn't go to his head; that's all I'd need is Dwight telling me what to do and him having the authority to do it. At least Jim will be there to keep him in his place. I stop drawing and put the pencil down when I think of him. We left things on a bad note yesterday. I pick up the now lukewarm coffee and take a sip, realizing I should've drank most of it hot. I have more than half the cup left.

It was so weird yesterday! Looking back on it, I don't even know how it spiraled out of control. I talked with Claire about setting up boundaries, and I've been trying to be good about not making 'suggestive physical contact' and not having him be the one I go to for everything. It just, who am I supposed to go to? I don't have anyone else. No one understands me so quickly and effortlessly like he does, which makes conversation so easy and carefree.

I haven't been good with avoiding physical contact. I admit it to myself and shake my head as the sun finally makes an appearance above the treetops. I look up and see the brightly colored ball in the sky making every drop of dew on the grass shine like they were diamonds. I know what I'm doing when I do it; when I give him a high-five or a hug, I just feel comfortable in his arms and I like it.

I feel guilty every time I do it though, because I know people see it and wonder. I'm pretty sure Angela thinks we're having an affair, because she called me 'hussy' a few weeks ago out of nowhere. And I can see the cameras being pointed in our direction every time we interact and I know Claire is shaking her head. She tells me I'm the only one who can stop myself from leading him on, and she makes it sound like an addiction. He's not an addiction; you can't be addicted to a person.

But I do lead him on—I know I do—and I feel the guiltiest about that. I'll initiate something, like I did yesterday at the dojo, and it'll escalate into something I don't mean it to be. Then I'll make him feel awkward and abandon him when all I really want to do is apologize and tell him why we can't do things like that. Boundaries. Friends have certain boundaries that aren't crossed, and every time we cross a boundary, I give him more and more hope that I'll call off my wedding and race into his arms.

I couldn't imagine doing that though; think of the embarrassment all three of us would suffer, especially since we all work at the same place. I'd rather have Jim feeling awkward as he flirts with me—and I know he knows what he's doing as well—than face the insane amounts of ridicule we'd receive from coworkers for all sorts of absurd reasons. Plus, if I did start dating him, who knows if it would work out? There's no guarantee with him, but there _is_ a guarantee with Roy, and so that's ultimately how I make my decision to stick it out with him. How does that old lyric go? The one by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young:

_If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with._

Way to oversimplify it, fellas. With Roy, I have a ring; I have a promise. I don't have a date set, but those are small details, because I can picture everything in my head. We'll have bouquets with orange roses as a reminder of our prom, and I'll wear a white, strapless gown with a few hints of cream for accent, and everyone will be in awe as we dance our first dance as a married couple. No one knows this, but Roy is a terrific dancer, and I'm sure he'll pull out all the stops to impress everyone at our wedding. It feels and looks wonderful in my mind, and I wish I could make all my wedding fantasies come true. Above everything else, for one day I want Roy and I to be happy without even trying.

I'm looking at my sketch and comparing it to the backyard to make sure I didn't miss anything when I hear the back door opening. I swing my head around, and Roy is standing there looking sleepy and holding a coffee cup in his hand. I can't help but smile at him; he hasn't done anything in particular to make me smile, but I'm still relishing in my fantasies of him twirling me around the dance floor. "Hey babe," I say cheerfully to him.

He yawns, "Hey darlin. I'm gonna get going.. Kenny and I are going to the lake, remember?"

"Yep. When will you be back?"

"Probably late—don't wait up for me, okay?" I try to hide my frown and nod my head. He's leaving me alone for the day, and after thinking about how good our relationship could be, I feel let down and snapped back to reality. I miss the Roy I used to know—the one who was considerate and who I didn't have to work so hard to have. Instead, I am left with this shell of a Roy, the one who leaves me for the day without a second thought and who I have to squeeze conversation out of.

He kisses me on my head and I look up at him, my eyes searching for the Roy I love. He gives me a small smile and my heart is immediately melted again, filled back up with hope that our relationship is going somewhere. He leaves me and closes the door behind him, and then it dawns on me: this must be how Jim feels whenever I smile at him.

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_Excuse me? Don't close the window just yet. See that button down in the left-hand corner that says 'submit review'? Please click that. And write me a review. Now._


	7. Final Wedding Dress Fitting

_A/N: okay so, this is definitely not where I thought I was going with this, but I think I like it more than what I had been planning to write on. If the writing seems a little scattered, that's intentional; remember, this is supposed to be a narration of Pam's thoughts. I'm also sorry if I haven't included enough episodes in the chapters for people's liking. That's what I thought this story would be initially, but I feel like everyone's seen the episodes, so they know what happens. I like this unseen stuff better, so suck it. Lol. HUGE thanks to MrsBigTuna for "beta'ing"? Whatever that means. Hehe. Enjoy!_

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"Pam? Are you okay honey?"

I hear my mother's concerned tone, but I don't care, and I continue to cry as I sit in a sea of taffeta. It's the final fitting for my wedding dress, but I hardly feel like I should be getting married in a few days. With each tick of the clock, I get closer to the biggest mistake of my life, and everything is so clear to me now that it physically hurts.

Jim's in love with me. In _love_. I knew we flirted with each other, but I tried my best to distance myself from him as my wedding grew closer and closer. I had no idea his feelings ran so deep, and the look in his eyes when he told me scared me to my very core. How could he be in love with me? What could he have been thinking to say that?

He must've thought what I'm thinking right now: Roy is all-wrong for me. He's inconsiderate and thoughtless, and we don't share the same values. Why couldn't I see it until three days before my wedding? I shouldn't agree to spend the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to or laugh with, and who only does things for me out of obligation. I even feel like Roy is only marrying me out of obligation, and I hear myself crying out in pain in the dressing room of the bridal shop over this new insight.

Why did I let myself live in such denial? I've denied for months, maybe even years, that there was nothing there. I let myself dig deeper and deeper into this hole I find myself in now: I'm marrying Roy, and we don't even love each other anymore. I haven't been able to look at him for the past month without feeling doubt, and because I've been distant, he of course hasn't put any effort into reaching out to me. He of course doesn't want to know what's wrong.

I screamed at him about a week ago, _"What do you think is wrong with me?"_ after he asked me what was so wrong with me to made me think he would want sushi for dinner. It sickens me that he was only willing to ask me what was wrong because of food. What a pig. His response to my exclamation made me so angry I made him sleep on the couch.

"_Are you… upset that your friend left? Is that why you've been so distracted lately?"_

I didn't even bother answering him—I just stormed into the bedroom and locked the door behind me—but his questions have haunted my mind ever since he asked them. Yes, upset doesn't even scratch the surface of what I feel about Jim leaving. I feel guilty, I feel lonely, I feel abandoned, I feel responsible, I feel regret. I made him leave. I drove him away, first by setting up my stupid boundaries and convincing myself that I was doing the right thing by getting married. And then I put the final nail in the coffin by giving him the biggest mixed signal that I could: I kissed him. And then I told him I was still going to marry Roy. I'm such an idiot.

That kiss was magnificent. I have never in my life been kissed like that. It made me feel so wanted, so needed, and it made me want to stop time right there. In that moment I didn't care about the consequences I'm facing now, I only cared about Jim's arms wrapped tightly around me, enveloping me in him. His lips were so warm, and I could literally feel every tension-filled moment that we had ever had over the years seeping out of us. There was no tension in our kiss, only pure delight. Afterward was a different story.

I should've thrown my ring across the room and kept kissing him. I should've told Roy I'm not wasting any more time on him and I'm leaving him for someone who appreciates me. I should've had the courage to get what I really wanted instead of just settling. But I didn't have the courage, so I made the excuse that we were both just drunk and then told him I wasn't going to leave Roy. Even with someone who actually loved me standing right there, I couldn't bear to leave the one who I _thought_ was committed to me. I was so scared of what could happen, I didn't see what was happening right in front of me.

So he left. He left me bewildered and standing at his desk, and then he left Scranton two days later. I did that to him, and to myself. I didn't even mean to do it, but it happened, and I haven't talked to him since. I haven't even gotten to apologize, which is all I feel like I could do now that a month has passed. Not that he would take my apology… But I can't even look at his empty desk without seeing the two of us leaning against it, entwined in each other. It makes my stomach hurt.

I returned to Roy that night and looked at him with completely different eyes. All I could do was compare him to the man who had just said he loved me, and this is when I began to doubt what I had been telling myself all this time. Can Roy look into my soul and know exactly what to say to make me feel scared or guilty or happy or loved? Does he even care about anything I hold dear? What am I getting out of our relationship? Security? Suddenly, security doesn't feel quite good enough for me.

It took me a while to put my finger on what exactly was the matter, and for a couple weeks I just felt ill from the circumstances I found myself in. I didn't know what I wanted anymore, and although the cameras had stopped filming for the summer, Claire was there to give me options of what I could do to help myself.

"_Hi Pam ... how are you feeling today?"_

"_Just… not good."_

"_Getting nervous about your wedding?"_

"_No…"_

"…_Are you sure about that?"_

"_I'm not nervous... just confused."_

"_You've been with Roy a long time..."_

"_Yeah..."_

"_Can I ask you something?"_

"_Yeah…?"_

"_What do you love about Roy?"_

"…_I don't know. I used to love all sorts of things about him, but now… I don't know."_

"_Why are you marrying him if you don't know why you love him?"_

"_Because—because he feels safe. He's something I can always count on to—to be there. Not there for me necessarily, but just there… he's like, a souvenir you win at a carnival, that you keep on a shelf just because you won him and don't feel like you can throw him away…"_

"_Pam… is that what you want? Someone to display as your husband, just so you can say you have one?"_

"_I didn't think that's what I wanted..."_

"_Alright. The way I see it, you have some choices. You can talk with Roy about this and try to rekindle whatever it is you seem to have lost with him. Or, you can throw away the carnival souvenir and try to work on being happy without him."_

"_Do I have to decide now?"_

"_No. But your wedding is in a couple weeks, so I would start weighing those choices in your mind."_

"…_Can't you just tell me what I should do?"_

"_Unfortunately dear, that's unethical practice… And I'm bound by the network not to influence the show in any way."_

"_Hah…"_

"_But just know you have support in whatever you do."_

"_Alright. Thanks Claire."_

After talking with her, I tried so hard to find whatever it was that attracted me to Roy in the first place. I tried being romantic, I tried being sentimental and nostalgic, and I even tried being sexy, but none of it seemed to spark something in him to be the affectionate, caring man I wanted him to be. Meanwhile, wedding plans went along as scheduled: cake was being made, flowers were being arranged, and gifts were already being received. I felt like if I just kept pushing I could revive our lost love and things would be okay by the time the wedding rolled around.

And then I saw myself in my wedding dress in the mirror of the bridal shop. My mother was standing by my side, stroking my gown to feel the soft fabric and letting me know how beautiful I looked, but all I could see was lies. Lies I had been telling myself and believing for so long, I didn't know how to believe anything else. There was no way our relationship could be salvaged, and now I had to face throwing it away. I didn't want to believe it, not after I had worked so hard for it for so many years, and so I broke down and ran into the dressing room, which is where I sit now.

I can't help but feel enormous regret for myself. I should've broken up with Roy when I had the chance that night at Cooper's instead of waste the last three years of my life trying to make our relationship into something it wasn't. I wasn't willing to take control of my life then, so I'm being forced to do it now. Karma's a bitch like that. If she doesn't get you one way, she'll find another way to get you.

I wipe away some tears and tuck my bangs back, and then I catch a reflection of myself in the mirror. Who is this girl crying? She looks so timid, like if I reached out and touched her she would break. She already looks broken with mascara running down her face and her breathing heavy and erratic. She's in a wedding dress, but she looks like the most sullen bride in the entire world, and the worst part is she looks content to just stay there and pity herself.

No. That's not me. I will not throw myself a pity party just because my world has come crashing down on me. I'm going to stand up and do what I should've done a long time ago: I'm taking charge of my life and putting Roy in the past. I will not try to fool myself into a relationship with him, because now the fear of putting on that façade with him for the rest of my life scares me even more than having no one at all. We are wrong for each other, and although it took me long enough to realize it, at least I'm smart enough to figure it out in time.

And so I do stand up and look at myself again in the mirror. She has her brows furrowed and a determined look in her eyes. She lets herself look petrified for only a moment at the thought of having friends and family ridicule her and having to move out of her home and start over, but then her eyes return to their determined state. The fear of the unknown is still there, lurking inside her, but as Dwight always says, fear is a great motivator. For once, Dwight is actually right about something.

"Pam! Please let me in!" my mother shouts from outside the dressing room, and so I quickly turn around and open the door.

"Mom…"

"Yes honey?"

"I need to follow my heart… I can't marry Roy."

"Oh... thank God!" she whispers and rushes into my arms, and I hug her with all my strength. "Let's get you out of that dress and get out of here, okay?" I can't agree more, and the first thing I make sure to take off is my engagement ring. I set it down on the seat in the dressing room and look at it, and a sense of freedom washes over me. This is good.

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_Okay, I'm on my knees here. Even a review that says 'nice work' will suffice. And again, thanks to MrsBigTuna for all the support! You rock my socks girl, and all you other fanfic aficionados should go read some of her stuff as well. Seriously. Go now. Wait! First review my story… please?_


	8. Honeymoon Vacation Time

_A/N: I heart this chapter; totally girl power. You're probably going to see a lot of episodes come into the picture in the next few chapters… at least I think so. Honestly, I have no idea; that's just what I'm thinking at the moment. We'll see! Anyway, read, review, and enjoy!_

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Okay, I'm at the Toyota dealership, looking around apprehensively at all the choices of cars. I'm sure a salesman will solicit me soon. What kind of car should I get? Do I even want a Toyota? I know they get pretty good gas mileage, and they're supposed to be really safe… Oh, there's a Corolla. This one looks different from Jim's… he must have an older model. Trucks? Gag. If I never ride in a truck again it'll be too soon.

"Hello ma'am, I'm Joseph," a paunch man strolls over and introduces himself. I smile politely and he continues, "I see you're looking at the Corolla here… are you interested in buying or leasing one?"

"Oh, um, not really. A friend of mine has one, so I was just… checking it out."

"Alright. Well what can I help you find then?"

His question implies that I know what I want. The truth is I have _no_ idea what I want in any facet of my life. I have no car, no home, no man, and I'm taking my weeklong honeymoon vacation time to figure out what I want in all those areas. Well, maybe not what I want in a man, but the other two are pretty crucial to decide on right now. I can't live in a hotel forever, and as much as I may not _want_ to return to work, I still need to, and so I'll need a way to get there.

I know what I _don't_ want though, and so I decide to tell Joseph my specifications, "Well I don't want anything too big… It's just me, so I don't need a lot of room…" He nods his head and then I think of something that will probably make him laugh and take the formality out of the situation. It's been a while since I've been able to crack a joke, so I just go for it, "But, uh, I _do_ want as many cup holders as possible, so if you could make that happen…" He does a belly laugh, and I smile back at him. I miss witty banter.

"Okay ma'am, I think I can show you some models you'll like." I follow him around the showroom and keep thinking how grateful I am for reparation money from being documented this past year. It was all backup money for any wedding emergencies, but obviously there weren't any, so now I can use it to start my life. Huh. Start my life, as in, I haven't been living until now.

I decide on a Yaris, just because it's the smallest and cheapest of all the ones he shows me. It's a cute little car, one that a newly single girl could feel confident driving around in. That's especially true of the blue color I get it in; I feel like that blue says to the world, "I look better in this car than I would with a husband. He wouldn't fit in here anyway." That's the attitude I should have right now, isn't it?

…

"Alright miss," Andrea, the superintendent leads me into the smallest apartment I have ever seen. "This is the unit for rent. One bedroom, one bathroom… There's the kitchen there, and this is the living area… kind of. It's $350 a month plus utilities… You can take a look around if you like."

And so I do. I peek in the bathroom, which has laminate floors, a tiny tub that I wouldn't dare take a bath in unless I bleached the thing first, and a toilet that looks like it's from the 80's. I can't be picky about it though, and Andrea says I can paint the rooms, so maybe a fresh coat would brighten up the bathroom. My mom told me I have to see the possibilities in whatever I look at and not just at what's there on the surface, and so I'm trying my hardest to do that.

The bedroom isn't as bad as the bathroom, and has plush, beige carpeting and a full-length mirror. There's a fairly small closet, but I don't need much room; I can always start folding my sweaters instead of hanging them.

It's amazing how huge life changes can trickle down into small habitual changes, like what to do with sweaters. Because I'm not marrying Roy, I moved out of his house, and so I have to find a place of my own, and none of the places I've looked at have big enough closets, and so I have to fold my sweaters instead of hang them up. My world has basically been turned upside-down, but in the most insignificant ways.

The kitchen is surprisingly nice, with new appliances, laminate countertops, and a stainless steel sink. Overall, the place is small but simple, and feels just right for one person. If I need more space, I can go out into the complex common area. They have a little paved spot outside which could serve as my temporary terrace. And it's not very far from work either; I hate a long commute, so being this close works out perfectly.

"I'll take it," I smile and tell Andrea.

"Great. Let's go down to my office and get some papers drawn up."

…

Chicken or fish? The eternal question. I'm looking in my freezer and all I can see is plates upon plates of foil-wrapped chicken and fish, a constant reminder of the decisions I made. I wouldn't have all these stupid plates of chicken and fish if I had called off my wedding earlier. I take out a plate of fish and stick it in the microwave. I watch the fish turn around and around and my mind drifts as the plate spins.

I wonder what Jim is doing right now. I always wonder what he's doing, how he's doing. I really miss him, and it's more than I ever thought I could miss somebody. I miss making fun of Michael with him, and I miss our practical jokes on Dwight, but I especially miss just having someone there to talk to. Jim understands me better than anybody, and with him gone I feel lost. Even with everything I've been doing for myself with a new apartment and car, I still feel like a lost little puppy. I need Jim back in my life, because I don't feel quite myself without him, and every silent prayer I make is for a second chance with him somehow.

I sigh at myself. I need to stop entertaining these silly schoolgirl fantasies of all the potential second chances I may have with him and confront the truth. By being a coward, I changed my life forever, and I have to face the fact that he's… I cover my mouth and shut my eyes tight, thinking the truth will just go away if I don't see it or speak it. No, I have to admit it: he's never coming back. I lost him, probably for good, and out of everything that has transpired in the past month and a half, losing him was probably my only real loss.

I can't take another loss like that, I just can't. I won't let myself do that anymore. I need to stand up for myself and be able to get what I want, if not for anything else then for not letting an opportunity like that slip out of my fingers. I need to make the opportunities and let people know what's on my mind, because that's how I'm going to be happy and move on.

Ding! I take the fish out of the microwave and take a bite. It's not bad considering it was frozen. I have the same optimism about myself; just heat me up and I'm good as new.

…

It's amazing how much you realize you need when you move in somewhere on your own. I just went to go buy a mop, a power drill, and toilet paper, which is quite a hodge-podge of necessities if I do say so myself. I stop at a red light and notice a big banner in front of the Scranton Community Center across the intersection: "Classes start in August! Sign up now and reserve your seat!"

I wonder if they have art classes.

No, I have to get home and keep working on my apartment. I go back to work on Monday and need to get everything finished by then.

Still, I wonder if they offer art classes.

Green light. I drive through the intersection and turn right into the community center parking lot. What's five minutes to just go check? It's not like Roy's at home waiting for me to make dinner. I get out of my new Yaris and go inside, eager as a child on Christmas day.

"Hi," I say to the elderly woman at the front desk.

"Hello, what can I help you with?"

"Um, I saw your sign out front, and I was wondering what kinds of classes you offer."

The woman starts rummaging around her desk and pulls out a catalogue. "Everything we offer is in here. There's even contact numbers in there to call and sign up for classes. You can take that one; we have plenty."

"Oh, thank you." She hands me the catalogue and I look at it and think of the possibilities. I flip through it absent-mindedly and notice there's a whole section devoted to art classes. Perfect.

"Have a good day," the woman calls as I walk out the front door. I drive home a little faster than normal, excited to get home and examine the catalogue. I'm starting to think not marrying Roy is the best blessing in disguise I could ever have; I would've never done this when I was with him, and never did, even when the prospect presented itself. Now though, I can do exactly what I want to do and don't have to think about anyone but myself. If I want to take art classes, I will, and no one's going to stop me.

…

Who is calling me at one in the morning? I grab my cell phone off my nightstand and look at the caller ID. Oh God. Not now. Not him. Not when I'm going back to work tomorrow. I think about not answering, but I can't bring myself to just let it ring.

"Hello?"

"Paaaaammmy!! Whassup baby?"

"Roy… are you drunk?"

"Whadoyouthiink…?"

I rub my forehead with my free hand. I don't think I've gotten a drunk-dial in five years, easily. "Roy, we have work tomorrow—"

"Screw work. Idunneed 'em. I donneed anybody! 'Specially not you!"

"Then… why did you call?"

"I needa ride.. I cannddrive like this."

I sigh and try to fight back my emotions. What a bastard. Does he still think he can really count on me for stuff like this? What did he think I meant when I said it was over? I can feel tears in my eyes as I indulge that little part of me who wants to go pick him up. I hate myself for still thinking he's my responsibility, and I hate that I'm so nice and selfless that I would go pick up my drunk ex-fiancée just so he doesn't have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Well guess what, Roy? I had to deal with the consequences of _my_ actions. All my bad decisions caught up with me, and they helped me to wise up and dump you so I could finally be my own person. I'm starting my life over, and I'm becoming happier and happier with myself everyday, so it's about time you started on that journey as well.

Now, how can I get out of this? "Roy… Where's Kenny?"

"Ohhe's right here… wanna say hi?"

"No Roy. He's drunk too, isn't he?"

"… Yep!"

"Wonderful… Um, listen Roy… I can't help you. You're… not my problem."

"Whaddyou say?"

"… You're not my problem anymore, Roy. I'm not going to come and pick you up. You have to deal with this; I'm not going to come and save you."

Silence. I don't think I've ever talked to him like that before, and I'm practically shaking as I wait for him to respond. I quickly contemplate if he has my new address; I don't want any trouble from him tonight. It hurts to do this to him, but I know deep down it's for the best.

"Fine. Bitch!" Click. That's actually about what I was expecting from him. I hope he'll be okay. Just as a precaution though, I go to check my front door to see if it's securely locked.

…

"Oh Pam, I am so sorry," Michael engages me in the tightest hug I have ever gotten, and all I can do is hold my breath and wait for it to be over. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah… I think I'll be alright, Michael—"

"No. It's never going to be okay. Your heart was broken, and you need lots of support right now."

I glance at Jim's empty desk and I do feel a pang of heartache. I quickly correct Michael, "Um, Michael, _I_ was the one who called off the wedding. _I_ dumped _Roy_."

"Yeah, well, you still need people to let you know they care about you, right? Like Barbara Streisand says, 'people, people who need people, are the luckiest people…'" He starts into a loud falsetto and I cringe. "'In the world!'" Oy vey. "And that means you, Pam, are very lucky to have your family here at Dunder-Mifflin."

"Yeah… thanks, Michael… and, everyone, I guess." The rest of the office gives me encouraging smiles and nods, and I know that even though things are changed forever, I'll be okay with it. My life is slowly getting better and better every day, and I know I will learn to love this new life too, especially now that I'm living it. The phone rings and so I leave Michael to go answer it, "Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam… hi Claire. Guess what?" I can't help but smile as I tell her my news; I'm so proud of myself.

* * *

_You know I like reviews, so what are you waiting for?_


	9. Celebrating Youth with Kelly

_A/N: I love Kelly, so I wanted to develop her and Pam's relationship a bit more. I thought this premise was funny, and I hope you get a laugh or two out of it. I hope it seems realistic too; I realize I'm pushing the envelope a bit with this, but you can tell me if I went too far. Also, I don't know if you realize this, but I don't own The Office or any of its characters. Just a reminder. Read, review, and enjoy!_

* * *

Oh no, here comes Kelly, grinning like an idiot. I wonder what she wants from me. Don't people realize I just want to get through the workday as fast as I can? Work just isn't fun anymore without… Well, Michael's antics are getting old (if I get called 'Pam Sandwich' one more time I think I'll scream), and Dwight thinks he rules the office now that he doesn't have someone constantly mocking and undermining him. I _have_ been covertly sending him messages telling him I'm from the CIA, which has been quite interesting… but it simply isn't the same.

"Okay Pam," Kelly leans against my desk and I try to be patient with her, anxiously waiting to get back to my FreeCell game. "You know what I figured out?"

"Um, that Lucky Charms aren't _really_ 'magically delicious'?" Man, I have gotten sassy without… without other people making the sarcastic comments. I try not to let this thought deter me and I stare quizzically at Kelly.

"No. You and me and Ryan are the only people under thirty in this office. Doesn't that make you feel great?! Cause when I figured it out, I was like _really_ relieved to be one of the youngest ones."

She has to have some sort of angle, so I squint my eyes and wait for a prompt as to what her angle is… Although, it does make me feel kind of good to have time to start my life over. Finally I realize she's going to wait for me to guess at what she's scheming, so I say, "Yeah, that's really great—"

"Good, cause I wanna go out and celebrate it! You and me, Pam! We're young, we're beautiful, and we are hitting the town, _tonight_!"

"Oh, um, I don't know…" I think about possible excuses not to go out with her and ponder the TV guide on my coffee table, the Lean Cuisine meal waiting for me in my freezer, and the loofah that will ultimately keep me company as I try to warm my lonely self up with a shower. I used to say I couldn't go out because I had something to do for the wedding, but alas, I can't use that excuse anymore. I look up at her and she is making puppy-dog eyes, trying to persuade me to say yes, and so I appease her. "Alright," I concede, and she jumps up and down with a squeal.

"This will be awesome! I know a great place to go. Yay girls night!"

"Oh, Ryan's not coming?" I only ask because I know she drags him everywhere.

"No… He has a thing with some of his business school buddies. He's been so busy lately…" I 'hmm' at her response and she continues to speak about the great time we're going to have tonight and where she's taking me, and so I pretend to listen as she clamors on in her high-pitched valley-girl voice. What have I gotten myself into?

…

Kelly pulls on my arm as we enter a loud bar with strobe lights blazing and a dance floor in the center of the bar. People are grinding up on each other as the bass blasts across the room, and the bartenders twirl bottles of liquor around as they pour drinks to entertain patrons. This certainly isn't Poor Richard's, and right now I feel a bit like Dorothy discovering Technicolor. I'm wearing one of Kelly's tank tops, which doesn't quite fit me in the bust, but Kelly says that's a good thing. I can't argue with Kelly, as much as I want to; she never takes no for an answer.

"Hi Tyler!" Kelly calls to a bartender with a buzz cut and a tongue ring, and he waves accordingly. "The usual, please!" she yells across the bar, and he responds.

"Alright, one blended Seven and Seven with eight maraschino cherries and sugar on the rim, comin' right up!"

"What do you want?" She turns and asks me. What _do_ I want? With Roy, it was always beer; he would make fun of me if I ever ordered a cocktail. But now a whole world of girlie drinks are open to me.

"Sex on the beach," I giggle, and Kelly acts surprised that those words came out of my mouth.

"Alright Pam!" she cheers and turns back to the bar to order. I scan the crowd and take in my surroundings. I haven't ever been to a place like this, but I'm glad Kelly dragged me here. It's nice to be out of your element once in a while, just to take in some new experiences; that's definitely what I need right now. Kelly hands me my drink and leads me over to a couch. We sit down and she dances slightly in her seat to the rhythm as we sip our beverages. I feel so caught-up in the moment… Am I actually having fun?

"To being awesome!" Kelly holds her glass up in a toast and I clink with her. I giggle as the drink gives me a slight buzz; I am such a lightweight. "So, I want to ask you—and you totally don't have to answer if you don't want—" Oh no. "How has your love life been since the wedding was called off?"

"Um—" I try to think about how I can possibly answer her question without looking completely pathetic, but I can't think of what I could say. I shrug instead, but Kelly can tell by my face that my love life is basically non-existent. Her face morphs into the look of pity that I received from every one of my family members three months ago when I told them I wasn't getting marriedf. "Yeah, no, it's been fine. I feel like I should get used to being single again before I jump into anything serious…"

"That is so smart," she assures me. "Definitely. Cause you dated him for like ten years! That is _such_ a long time to be off the market. But you can still have a fling now and then, right?" I wonder what made her think I was the 'fling' type as she continues to talk a million miles a minute, and then glance at the drink in my hand; I know deep down there is only going to be one way to survive this night. I pound the drink back and Kelly interrupts her own train of thought and starts cheering for me.

…

I am_so_ drunk. That Peach Schnapps really did me in. And, I'm having an awesome time! Yeah, awesome is the only word I can think of to describe things now after a couple hours of one-on-one chatting with Kelly. The awesome thing about Kelly though, is her talking gets slower the drunker she gets, so I can at least keep up with the conversation. Right now we're playing a game _she_ likes to call truth or dare, but actually it's just gossiping. Most of it is about her and Ryan, or her and some other guy she's been with, and now I realize that she's actually kind of a slut!

"And then he kissed me. And I didn't know what to say, so I said, 'Ryan, what took you so long?' Can you believe that?" I am falling over laughing at her, even though what she just said wasn't that funny, and she continues, "So yeah, that was my last, first kiss… Only had to kiss thirteen frogs to get to my prince! Hah! So what about you? How many guys have you kissed?"

I quit my giggling for a moment to consider her question and then figure, _ah what the hell, she'll probably just keep talking about herself instead of probe into my life for more answers_. "Four," I tell her, and she takes another gulp of her third Seven and Seven, nodding at what I just said.

"Okay, so tell me about them—"

"Oh, um… nah."

"Come on, Pam!"

"Well—"

"Obviously one was Roy—"

I sense an opening and I take it; maybe we'll just end up talking about Roy for the rest of the conversation. "Well, yeah. Our first kiss was after our second date. We had just seen a movie, and he was dropping me off at my house, and he walked me to my door and just kind of grabbed me and planted one on me. I was really—surprised by it."

"Some men are so forceful," she comments to me. "That should've tipped you off right there, cause he wasn't gentle with you." I try not to think about the only gentle kiss I've ever received in my life and nod at her, waiting for her to continue the thoughts that are probably running though her brain; my story probably reminds her of some boy she dated who was also really forceful or something. Instead, she asks, "So what were the other ones?"

Dammit. Stupid Kelly being unpredictable when she's drunk. I stammer and try to get out of it, but she has me cornered, so I tell her, "Well, my very first kiss was on the back of a school bus on the way home from a field trip in 8th grade. A friend of mine dared us to kiss, so we did… and looking back I kind of realize, he wasn't a very good kisser!"

Kelly collapses on the couch, laughing hysterically and spilling her drink a little, and I can't help but join her. Why is everything so much funnier when I'm wasted? I continue with my story, "And… my second first kiss was at a roller rink. I went on a blind date with a guy and he was shy and I was shy… but we both mustered up some courage to kiss each other at the end of the night. It was kinda awkward cause his mom was right there ready to pick him up, but yeah, I dated him for like a month during my freshman year of high school."

"Those are really funny stories! You have never had a good first kiss, have you!" she asks me rhetorically through fits of laughter, and it makes me wonder if she forgot I said _four_, not three. I'm not going to push it, even though part of me wants to say, 'yes, my last first kiss was the best one I have ever had in my life.' Whoops. Too late. I can hear myself saying it to her and I see her eyes widening. What did I just do?

"Wait. What? Did you and Roy like, break up in college or something?"

"Um, no—"

"But you said that Roy—"

"I know, but—"

"Pam! Who was your last first kiss!" Oh, I am an idiot. There is no way I can just not tell her now, but good thing I'm drunk enough not to worry too much about it, and maybe she'll be too drunk to remember anything tomorrow. Her eyes look hungry for gossip, and so I just spit it out like it's a bitter taste on my tongue.

"It was—Jim."

"WHAT!"

I feel like I've just opened Pandora's box. What was I thinking to oblige Kelly with that information? Still, she has the biggest smile on her face, and then I realize that I do too. Just thinking about that kiss makes me smile.

"Yeah… It was at that casino night thing in May—"

"Ohmygod! Okay, you _have_ to give me more details!"

"Um, well—" Thank you, lowered inhibitions. I would _never_ be doing this sober. "Roy had left for the night, and, um… he told me he was in love with me."

Kelly's eyes are so wide they look like they're going to fall out of her skull. "Seriously? Ohmygod! What did you say?"

"Well, I said I didn't want to ruin our friendship—"

"Pam! You idiot!" Yes, I know, that's me. "The best couples were friends first! Like Monica and Chandler! That's like the _only_ reason she settled for him; he is not good-looking enough for her… Oh! Wait a second, so if you rejected him, how did you guys kiss?"

"Uh.. I went up to the office to call my mom cause I was really confused about how I felt. And he found me up there."

"Wow. So you kissed right in the place where his love for you first bloomed. Seriously, that is so romantic, you should turn it into a book or something."

I glance down at the floor, tears welling up in my eyes. I didn't realize I was so emotional over this. "Yeah, well… It didn't have a happy ending, did it? He moved—"

Kelly gives me a pshaw and tells me, "Whatever. He said he loved you! Even though he moved, his feelings probably haven't changed. You need to go after him!"

"What?"

"Yeah! You're single now, and he's single, and if you just opened up to him I'm sure he would take you in his arms and whisk you off into the sunset—"

"But—I feel like I really hurt him."

"Which is why you also say you're sorry. Pam, you can't just let something good like that slip away from you forever! You think Ryan has been my boyfriend for so long because I let things take its course? No! I work really hard at our relationship, always talking with him and wanting to spend time with him… It's how he knows I care."

Wow, so apparently when I'm drunk, Kelly makes sense. I should try to go after him. I should try and go after him! This could work! I wonder if I'm being too optimistic about this though; I mean, I wonder if I can just say 'I'm sorry' and everything will be okay. I glance at Kelly and can tell her wheels are turning.

"What is it?"

She smirks at me. "Or, you could make him jealous," she suggests, which apparently means our trip to a land where Kelly makes sense has come to an end; I clearly need another drink. She senses my skepticism and continues unveiling her plan, "Not jealous, but—okay, so you could like get a makeover, date a few guys for practice, become a confident woman, and then go to him and be like, 'I want you right now,' and he'll be so stunned at how awesome you are now he won't have any other choice but to be eating out of your hands. It's totally brilliant!"

Brilliant isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe her plan, but it does make sense to get a little more courageous before I go and pursue him. Even if I don't do exactly as Kelly dictates, the motivation of a second chance with him is enough to make me strive for change. I think I'll do it; she's convinced me, and so I tell her I like her plan.

"Yay! Okay, first, we need you to go out on a blind date."

"Why?"

She looks at me as if the answer is obvious, "Well, for two reasons: first, for practice, second, to make sure you don't have a love connection with anyone else. Who knows? Jim may have been a fluke—like, an excuse to dump your fiancée." I seriously doubt that was it, but I let her continue, "Oh! I know the perfect guy! His name is Allen; he's my neighbor. And, he is a cartoonist, so you guys have drawing in common!"

I know I'm never going to win this battle, so I shrug and tell her, "Alright, why not?" Kelly squeals and gets out her cell phone, which makes me wide-eyed. I have to tell her never to tell anyone about Jim and I, so I tap her on the leg and give her my most serious expression, "Kelly. We have to keep all this between the two of us. I… want it to be a secret bond between us. No one else can know about it, alright?"

She smiles wide, happy that we have something secret between us, "Okay! That will be so much fun being all secretive and stuff! I won't even tell Ryan, I swear. Speaking of Ryan, he needs to come pick us up! There's no way I'm driving home." I breathe a sigh of relief as she presses Ryan's speed dial number and holds the phone to her ear. I hope Kelly won't say anything; I think she realizes I won't trust her with anything if she blabs, so I'm not too worried. Maybe I'll be more worried tomorrow morning when I'm sober, but for now I'm blissfully ignorant of all my drunken actions and their potential consequences. Kelly tells me Ryan is on his way, so we leave our couch and go to stand by the entrance to wait for him.

* * *

_What are you, drunk? Review!_


	10. The Old Employee

_A/N: this is the first time I've actually done an episode, but I hope I elaborated enough for all of you to stay interested. I wanted this to be along the lines of chapter three, because I feel like so often in life we plan to do something but then it totally falls apart on us. This is much bleaker than chapter three though… Enjoy?_

* * *

There, finished. Wow, I should make an effort to do my hair more often. It looks much nicer in smooth ringlets instead of that frizzy mess I'm too lazy to care for. Of course, I've never felt like I've had to make an effort before; even with Roy I didn't really care about my appearance. But today is different. 

I have been preparing for months for today, and I have no doubts in my mind that everything I've been doing has been worth it. I've been out on blind dates, much to my chagrin. Kelly set me up on them, and all were either boring or horny, which actually reminded me of my early Dunder-Mifflin days. They were nice enough, but there just wasn't a spark. At least I know falling for Jim wasn't a fluke.

Nope, I know it's the real thing with him, and I am finally feeling confident enough to tell him how I feel, especially now that he's coming back to Scranton. I pick out the sweater my mom knitted for me a couple years ago out of the drawer and hold it up; it's much nicer than my other ones, and so I put it on. I need to look like a changed woman from the mousy thing he left six months ago, and I think I do, so I smile at myself in the mirror and head out the door.

…

Oh no, office calling. "Hello?"

"Pam, Michael here. Listen, I need you to pick up some things at the grocery store for me—"

"What?"

"You know, for the Integration Celebration—just, a couple bottles of champagne, some smoked salmon, fancy crackers… you know, stuff you'd serve at a dinner party—"

I can't help but ask, "Did Angela approve of all this?"

"Hey,_I_ am the regional manager, okay? _I_ created the Party Planning Committee and put Angela in charge, so… If she doesn't like it, I can just as easily take away her title, eh? We can maybe stage a coup?"

"Alright, Michael—"

"Put Fuehrer Beesly in charge, eh?"

I sigh, "I'm going to the store—"

"Heil Pam!"

"Goodbye Michael!" I shut my cell phone quickly and pull into the grocery store parking lot. Nothing like a Nazi joke this early in the morning.

…

I set the bags of groceries on the conference room table and look up at Claire and the cameraman watching me. I've been telling Claire about my plans in the last couple months, and while she says she won't say anything to the cameras, I know she gives them hints about what to watch for. I just try to play it cool as she comments, "So Pam, you look happy…"

"Yes, I'm in a good mood today!" I hear myself practically shout as I unpack the groceries. I continue to explain, "I'm excited to meet all the new people… and to see my old friend again, definitely. That's always a thing that makes people happy... to have an old friend back."

"Do you think he'll notice how much you've changed?"

I bite my lip as I consider her question, and can't help but shrug and shake my head nervously, "I hope so! I just… Today will be a good day." And it will. It has to be. Nothing is standing in my way now, and so I am going to take my second chance at happiness and hold onto it for dear life.

…

I watch as Michael makes his first impressions on the new employees, and I'm getting the feeling that they don't exactly know what they're in for. He's actually being somewhat diplomatic, standing anxiously by my desk, passing out "gift bags" to people as they come in, and then escorting them to their seats. He's just taken a larger man named Tony into the annex when a young brunette walks in. She looks very professional, but approachable, and she walks right up my desk and sticks out her hand. I've never been treated like that before as the "lowly receptionist," so I stand and extend my hand to her. Maybe we'll end up being friends.

"Hi!" I say cordially to her.

"Hi."

"I'm Pam."

"Karen. I love your sweater."

I knew this sweater would be the perfect one for today, but I never thought about making an impression on the new people. "Oh, thanks. My Mom made it for me."

"Really? That's so cool. I've always wanted to learn to knit…" Our lovely conversation is of course interrupted by Michael, who practically sprinted to my desk after he saw he was missing out on meeting someone.

"Welcome! Welcome, welcome, welcome! Take me to your leader. Oh wait, I am your leader," he says in his patented robot voice, and all I can do is wait for Karen to respond. How she handles this will determine how he feels comfortable treating her, and so I have my fingers crossed she'll come up with something good.

"Uh wait, are you a robot or a Martian?" This girl does not disappoint. She's outwitted him, and did it with a smile too. Very impressive; I like her already.

Michael stammers before getting his bearings back, "I am actually your boss, Michael Scott. Welcome. Wow! You are very exotic looking. Was your dad a G.I.? Or…" I give him one of my disapproving looks as Karen stands there silently, probably feeling violated in some way. Michael's poor conversational judgment never fails to amaze me; sometimes I like to keep a tally of how many rude comments he makes in a day, and today looks like it will be an outlier from the average.

At least Karen doesn't seem like she'll put up with him. She's just the kind of person we needed in the office to keep Michael in his place, and she appears to be really bright, which means she'll be able to negate anything ignorant he says. It will be so nice to have another girl to chat with who won't want to gossip or judge me, so I smile and sit back down, my hopes high for our future friendship.

…

Oh my God, there he is. I gasp slightly as he walks in the door with another new employee, and I can feel the camera panning over to me. I make sure my hair hasn't frizzed out and give the camera an eager look, but then I realize Michael is going to take the reins on this one. I wait quietly for my turn as the new guy introduces himself and they walk off, Michael making yet another inappropriate comment. I need to remember to add that one to my tally later; right now, I'm focused on one thing.

"Hi, I'm Jim. I'm new here." Always playing it cool, aren't you Halpert?

"Oh my God! It's really you!" I wrap my arms around him and he returns my embrace. This feels so good, like it's where I'm meant to be. I can't wait to talk to him later.

"Yeah, I was just doing a little joke there about how we'd never met..."

"I know. I don't care." He falls back a bit, surprised at how blunt I just was, but he's going to have to get used to it. This is who I am now, and I'm telling it like it is.

"Awesome! Good to be back. The place looks really good," he says as he keeps his eyes solely on me. This is going to be too easy.

"It's really good to see you," I say with a mile-wide smile.

"You, too." He looks down a bit apprehensively, but I decide to ignore it. He said he's happy to see me!

…

Okay, so I'm getting kind of worried. First, Ryan is keeping the desk he's been sitting at for the past few months, with means I have to look at the back of Jim's head all day. It's a bit upsetting that I can't just look up and catch his eye anymore, and I wonder if he'll ever turn around to talk to me. Also, it never occurred to me that he made friends with the Stamford people when he was there. Like during the orientation, Karen passed him some gum, which I know I shouldn't feel threatened by, but it does make our bond feel a little less special. I know I need to make a move soon, so when I see him headed for the break room I nonchalantly follow behind.

We make small talk, and I comment about how he's not drinking grape soda anymore. He says he's evolving, which I take somewhat as a joke, but I know there's a hidden meaning in there somewhere. I ask him out for coffee, which is where I plan to tell him everything about how kissing him made me feel and how I freaked out and called off my wedding and how I'm becoming my own person... But he shoots me down with some lame excuse about how he's still unpacking. I can't say I'm not hurt by it, but I try to seem understanding.

Then of course Michael comes in and the awkward meter jumps off the scale. I try to laugh with Jim about it, but he barely looks at me and tells me he has to get back to work. We obviously aren't back in tune with each other yet, and it's frustrating. I sigh and stare at the floor before I realize I'm standing alone in the break room; I need to talk to Claire.

Luckily she wants to talk to me too… For an interview of course, but at least I'll get to vent a little. We sit down in the conference room and the cameraman gets settled. I can see her scrutinizing my every move, and after over a year of being filmed you'd think I'd be used to her analyzing, but I'm not. It doesn't help that I want to throw a fit.

"Pam, how is your day going?"

"The day's going fine. It's been a little chaotic but it's fine. It's great! A lot of distractions. But, it's good," I try and convince myself as I play with my fingernails.

"What do you mean by 'distractions'?"

"Um, just… It's weird having Jim back. And I've been trying to connect with him and stuff, but, it's like we're on different wavelengths. It's kind of annoying…"

Claire tilts her head to the side like she's trying to interpret my words, "So, why is it annoying?"

"Because… um, this wasn't how things went in my head. In my head, I asked him out to coffee and he was really excited to catch up, and then, I told him everything I've been wanting to tell him, and…" She leans forward as I try and form the end of that sentence. "And then he, kissed me again, and told me how happy he was that he was back, and that he wants to be with me." I shake my head, realizing that I've been living in a fantasy if I ever thought that would happen. "Guess that was pretty stupid, huh?"

"No, not stupid," Claire takes my hand. "We all want the situations in our heads to play out like we want them to, but they almost never happen that way. It's how that saying, 'hope for the best but prepare for the worst' got its start."

I look up at her, "What's the worst I should've prepared for?" And from her expression, I know she knows what the worst is, but she refuses to tell me. I can feel my stomach sink.

…

"THIS IS EGREGIOUS! This is egregious!" For once, I completely agree with Michael. I look into the camera, stunned at what it has just panned over from: Karen, who I thought would be my potential new friend, rubbing Jim's back. That's what Claire meant by _'the worst,'_and it's slowly all making sense. He didn't just make friends in Stamford, he found someone who didn't reject him like I did, and so now they're… What _are_ they?

I have a thousand new questions, all of which I don't know if I'll ever get answers to, but every single one of them makes my insides hurt. I feel like I'm grieving for the loss of my hopes, which have been torn apart and stomped on and are now lying in pieces on the floor. I can see glimpses of the relationship I used to have with Jim in them: a joke, a seemingly innocent touch, a look I chose to deny. And I want so badly to put those pieces of hope back together again, but I know I can't do that if he's not willing to help me pick them up. I suppose I have no one to blame but myself; after all, I tore his dreams apart six months ago… Maybe I'll transfer this time.

…

I will be so happy to get home. This has been one of the worst workdays on record, and Michael and Dwight barely did anything to me. I didn't talk to Jim for the rest of the day, not that he was so eager to talk to me; he didn't even come to my desk to get a jellybean. I walk out to the parking lot and I see his car is still here, so I just try to walk past and not think about it, but then he calls out to me, "Hey."

"Hey!" Okay, so apparently acting overly-enthused is my safety mechanism. I really don't feel like having a confrontation right now, so I try to keep walking to seem in a hurry.

"I thought you had already... left."

"Uh... no. I just uh had some other stuff I had to do. What's up?" I say as I stop in my tracks, knowing he's not letting me leave that easily.

"Oh, nothing. I just feel bad. I feel like things were a little weird today... or something." He noticed too! Maybe—Nope, just be aloof, and prepare for the worst.

"What do you mean?"

"I just think I should tell you that... I've sort of started seeing someone. And uh..."

It's true. Dammit. I try not to show him I'm crushed and instead decide to brush him off. By this point, I just feel angry at him. "Oh. That's totally cool. You can do whatever you want."

"O—ok. Um… good." He seems taken aback by my answer, so I decide to stick with this tactic. It hurts less to act like I don't care.

"We're friends. We'll always be friends." Not true. Why do I lie so bad? We stand awkwardly as I think of this and notice a twinge of sadness in his eyes. Maybe—

"Right."

Nope. Ugh, I can trick myself so easily. I just need to get home. I turn and walk to my car and give him some petty recognition, "It's good to have you back."

"Yeah. Good to be back." I get in my car and quickly pull away. Today was not what I thought it'd be at all, and so I can't help but wonder, what the hell am I going to do with myself now? Needless to say, I need a new plan.

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_Good episode interpretation? Please review and let me know!_


	11. Drunken Decisions

_A/N: okay kids, this is what I like to call a twofer: two big decisions in one chapter! Woo! They both have to deal with the same thing though, which is why I thought it worked. In my head, I'm thinking about one more chapter that is Pam's POV of an episode, and then I'll be getting back to my regular stuff that's mostly all made-up. Read, review, and enjoy!_

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I polish off my second glass of champagne and look out at the dance floor; everyone looks so happy and I can't help but wonder how people would've acted on my wedding. It probably would've looked similar, considering Phyllis stole all my ideas: the invitations, the flower arrangements, and even my dress! Unbelievable. My attention turns to the stage as Kevin and his band start into yet another great hit by The Police: 

_Well, someone told me yesterday_

_That when you throw your love away_

_You act as if you just don't care_

_You look as if you're going somewhere_

_But I just can't convince myself_

_I couldn't live with no one else_

_And I can only play that part_

_And sit and nurse my broken heart, so lonely_

_So lonely, so lonely, so lonely…_

How appropriate. I watch Jim and Karen move on the dance floor and I begin to question if he went through what I'm going through now. Did he nurse his heart back to health before he was able to open himself up to her? Did he have to spend night after night wondering why I rejected him? Why can't I just get over him as fast as he seemed to get over me?

We haven't interacted as much as we used to, and for good reason. Karen knows we kissed, so I'm sure there are some trust issues between them that are keeping him away. I understand that, and I can't say I don't feel resentment every time I see them together. It makes me ashamed to admit it, because I shouldn't feel like I have any possession over him, but I can't help it. Does the childhood explanation of, 'he was mine first' have any merit here? I'm sure if we were having this argument on the playground, she would just come back with 'finders keepers.'

But I feel like it's more than Karen keeping him away; I also blame my old friend, boundaries. Jim appears to be much better at setting boundaries than me though, and it also makes me question how much I unknowingly initiated before last May. Or at least, how much did I push the boundary before it was knocked down? I feel pangs of guilt in my stomach, which leads me to believe that I was the one always doing the pushing. I must've seemed so desperate to reach out to him all the time, which is why he probably thought it was something more… At any rate, he seems disinterested in bulldozing boundaries now that he believes there's nothing on the other side.

Suddenly, I hear a familiar melody. It takes me back to my teenage years, driving in my car and lightly tapping on the steering wheel, back to Roy making fun of my tastes in music but then having it slowly grow on him… This song eventually grew to be our song for some peculiar reason. It doesn't make much sense for it to be; after all, it's about heartache after a person has broken up with you. I think this is how we both thought we'd feel if our relationship ever came to an end, and I mourn for my naïve teenage self because that wasn't the case.

Roy has been nicer to me lately, which only makes me madder. Why couldn't he have been this responsive when we were engaged? I suppose he only realized what he had after it was gone… I know _I_ did, only not with him. But the way he's acting now reminds me of the Roy I knew in high school, and it even makes me smile to find him doting on me.

"_I was the one who actually wanted to get married."_

I replay his words in my mind and speculate. What did he mean by that? He didn't want to get married; he didn't want anything to do with the wedding preparations, and seemed uninterested in what I had to say or what I was doing with my life. But maybe he thought he was being appreciative and caring all those years, and only now recognizes that he wasn't. It makes me think he's grown in the months we've been apart.

I take a sip of my third glass of champagne when I see him approaching. He looks so nice in a tux and tie, and I feel my heart race a little as he smiles at me.

"Hey, they're playing our song."

"Yeah, that's weird. I thought they only played the Police."

"I know. Uh... I gave them twenty bucks." I look up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. He's been so good to me these past few months, and not even for any particular reason. I mean, I dumped him, and he still wants to please me. It shows maturity in him, and it makes me want to give him a second chance. "You want to dance?" he asks, and I nod sheepishly, so he leads me outside to a terrace, away from the prying eyes of our coworkers.

We sway closely, Roy's strong arms around my frame, and I inhale the musky scent of his cologne. This feels so familiar, and I lean against his shoulder and let myself indulge in the moment. I haven't felt this close to anyone in so long, and it makes me realize how much I've missed it. He asks me if I want to get out of here, away from the wedding that ought to have been mine, and I nod affirmatively. We get our coats, and we're on our way.

…

"So.. are you hungry?" he asks me over the phone. He flashes his brights at me and I laugh at him; this is a little game we used to play in high school. It works like Morse code; the person in front taps on the breaks and the person behind flashes their brights. We used to have code for everything, but I barely remember the signals anymore. Luckily we have cell phones now.

"Yeah. That wedding food barely filled me up."

"It was a buffet, Pam—"

"I know… I wasn't that hungry," I admit to him. He flashes his brights again and I giggle, "How do you remember these signals!"

"How do you not?" he retorts, and I scoff at him. "How does Chili's sound?"

"Oh, um…" My mind flashes back to the Dundies last year—to our fight over our annual award and my drunken antics—and I sigh heavily, trying to think of how I can explain. "I'm kind of… not allowed in there."

"What's that?" he asks skeptically, and so I explain. I can't believe I never told him that it happened, or that we never tried to go there afterward, but he's finding out now. I like being honest with him and telling him things, and it gives me hope for a fresh start with him.

"Pammy! I never knew what a bad girl you are!" he jokes and I laugh along with him. "Wanna be really bad?"

I look at him in the rear-view mirror, "What do you have in mind?"

"We could try sneaking in…"

"Really? You'd be up for that?" I ask skeptically. Roy never wants to have fun like that; doing stuff like being sneaky was more like what I did with—You know what? This could be a lot of fun. "Okay," I tell him, and so I pull into the left-hand turn lane and he follows after me.

…

Roy and I walk casually into the Chili's hand-in-hand with innocent smiles on our faces. It's crowded in here—it is Saturday night after all—and so the hostess tells us we can wait in the bar area. I look up nervously at Roy, but he gives me a wink and leads me to the bar. He orders two beers for us and I sip mine slowly as we chat. It turns out that after his DUI, Roy did a lot of things to better himself. He had to do some mandatory community service, but that gave him motivation to get involved in other activities. He joined a district football team through the local community center—the same one I'm taking art classes through—and he and Kenny are saving up for jet skis. He has goals and priorities now, and it seems like he's a real adult.

I'm really proud of Roy and all the changes he's made, and when I tell him about all I've been doing for myself, he seems to be proud of me too. I like that we've both become our own people, and it makes me think about how we would be as a couple now. I like to think we would be more supportive of each other, and could really try to give each other what the other person needs.

We finish our beers and our name still hasn't been called, so I go back to the bar to get us another round of drinks. I smile at the bartender and he gives me a quizzical look. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" he asks and I bite my lip. I notice my picture on the wall behind him, along with several others, and become visibly anxious.

"Um, I don't think so… Never mind on the beers though!" I rush back to Roy and whisper, "I've been compromised! We gotta go!" He looks around quickly like he's a secret agent and then grabs my hand, leading me out the door to our cars.

We laugh as we stand by our cars and I lean my hand on his chest to catch my breath. His laughing stops and he looks at me with longing in his eyes, and this makes my laughing stop as well. For a moment we just stand there, trying to read the expressions on each other's face, and finally Roy speaks up.

"Listen, uh… I dunno if this is even possible, but… I want to give us another try."

Maybe it's because of all the alcohol racing through my blood, maybe it's because of how lonely I've been lately, or maybe it's that look in Roy's eyes that always melts my heart, but I feel so optimistic about this idea. We've taken the time to find who we really are, and now we'll finally be ready to commit to each other. I have faith in this, and so I tell him, "I would like that."

"Great! I mean, we can take it as slow as you want—" But before he can get into the logistics of our revisited relationship, I cut him off quickly with a soft and intense kiss. His lips curl as he kisses back, and I know a smile is forming on his face. I can feel one forming on mine too, and as he wraps his arms around me, I let out a small sigh; Roy is finally the man I want him to be.

…

I sit at the bar with him, a drunken smile on my face, and I can't believe how well things have been going. Roy still isn't a master with words, but I've been trying more to understand what he means when he's being affectionate or insightful, and he has been trying a lot harder than in the past to make me happy. He even came to my art show, and brought along Kenny! I never thought I'd see them trying to appreciate art, but Roy understands that's important to me now, so he's going to support me however he can.

Although, I just can't get this little voice in the back of my head to shut up. I want to be honest with him, like how I was with the thing about Chili's; I feel like sharing that with him brought us closer together, and I know I need to tell him a couple more things before our relationship can go much farther. I know it won't be easy, but if he's willing to try this much for me, he's going to have to handle it.

Roy notices my staring and gets a curious expression on his face, "What?"

And so, for maybe the first time ever, I tell Roy exactly what is on my mind, with no editing or censoring: "I want us to make it. I want a fresh start."

"That's awesome. That's what I want."

I take a deep breath; I know I'm treading into rough waters, so I make sure to tell him, "Okay, but in order for us to make it, there can't be any secrets between us."

"I didn't do anything. Ask anyone, I totally could have and I didn't at all," he responds in a slur. Oh God, that makes this much more difficult. He thinks I meant him, like _he's_ the big screw-up and _I'm_ the innocent one who could never do anything like cheat on him. The waves are getting choppy, but I decide to push ahead.

"Just listen. Remember that casino night about a month before we were supposed to get married? I kissed Jim."

"What?"

I reassure myself, just keep going; it'll work out eventually. He just needs to hear the full story right now. I continue, more uneasily, "He told me how he felt and I guess I had feelings too, and we kissed—"

"Jim came on to you?" he asks and gives me a look that makes my stomach sink. I start to think, maybe this was a bad idea to tell him, but I want his forgiveness and love so badly that I need him to hear me out.

"Just listen—"

He cuts me off again though, "No, I am listening! That's the problem I am listening!"

"Don't yell," I whisper to him, but I can see his anger growing and I can feel the waves crashing on top of me. I'm quickly losing control of the situation, and for the life of me I don't know how to turn it around.

"Don't yell?!" He throws a shot glass against the wall and it shatters a mirror. In the ten years I've known him, although he has with others, Roy has never acted out his anger against me physically. My heart is pounding in my chest that I've finally made him mad enough to want to harm me, so I need to find a way out of here before he turns violent.

"This is over."

I walk away from him, praying with everything I have that he doesn't follow me. I can see out of my peripheral vision that he's gotten out of his seat, so I grab my coat and rush out the door. "Yeah, you're right. This is so over. You kidding me, Pam!? Come on! God!" I hear more shattering of glass as I leave Poor Richard's, and I can feel hot tears running down my cheeks as I get into my car. Despite how much Roy has been trying, this was apparently too much for him to handle, and his reactions were too much for me to handle. I drive home in silence, except for some sniffling and my body shaking a bit. The tears are still coming, and I know that every tear shed is for every lost moment, every little doubt I let slide. I wipe away the salty tears from my cheeks and realize that I have no more doubts now.

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_If you review my story, I'll send you a personalized reply (that's my new thing I'm trying out), so what are you waiting for?_


	12. At the Beach

_A/N: so I know this one is a little short, but I feel like if you've seen this scene, it speaks for itself. Plus, I kind of can't wait to get back to my more imaginitive chapters; I have some good ideas coming down the pipe for ya'll! Just a friendly disclaimer, I don't own any of this. These are just words… inspiring words. Enjoy!_

* * *

I hate this. I _hate_ this. But for the first time ever, I'm not going to take this anymore, and I'm going to do something about it. Most days at Dunder Mifflin are tolerable, or if they're not, I just brush it off. _'It's only one day,'_ I tell myself, but not today. Today will be different, and for once, I know it will be different because I will control it. 

I am finally taking control of my life, and I have so much anger stored up in me from today that I'm not going to let fear stand in my way of speaking up and standing my ground. My fear has controlled me for as long as I can remember: fear of being alone, fear of offending people, fear of being ridiculed… But today, every single one of them over there deserves to hear what I have wanted to say to them for a long time, and so I'm not letting my fear hold me back any longer.

First, I have to run across these hot coals.

I told the camera crew, "I fully expect to burn my feet and go to the hospital," and I feel the same way about speaking my mind. I expect to get burned by people's responses to what I have to say to them, just as I expect to get burned by these coals, but I've made my peace with that. I just—I can't explain, but I have to do it. I hear Jim's words echoing in the back of my mind:

"_You got to take a chance on something sometime, Pam."_

It's been over a year since he said that to me. I told him I was fine with my choices, but I guess I really wasn't. I feel almost pathetic for not taking his advice sooner, but I just didn't have it in me until now. Now I feel ready. Now, after taking pages and pages of notes, after getting sand kicked in my face, after cooking 800 hot dogs and listening to Michael's babbling all day… and after having no one acknowledge me or stand up for me when Michael wouldn't let me do the coal walk. Now, after all of that, I'm ready to take a chance. I just hope I'm not too late.

I count down in my head, _'3… 2… 1…' _and I jump. Holy crap that's hot! Keep going! Ohh… Wow! I did it. I _did_ it! Oh my God. What a rush! Correction, _now_ I'm ready. I give the camera crew a triumphant look and rush down to where my coworkers are standing. I am so filled with adrenaline that I don't even care that I interrupt Dwight, who is in the middle of what I'm sure is a riveting story.

"Hey! I want to say something." I look around at all the curious expressions on my coworkers faces as I continue, "I've been trying to be more honest lately and I just need to say a few things… I did the coal walk! Just, I did it!" I turn to Michael and stare at this pathetic man who has been ordering me around all day, "Michael, you couldn't even do that. Maybe I should be your boss… Wow, I feel really good right now—" I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins as feeling starts to come back to my feet. I try not to look in pain as I keep going with my rant. They all need to hear this, and if I don't get it out now, I never will. "Why didn't any of you come to my art show? I invited all of you. That really sucked. It's like sometimes some of you act like I don't even exist…"

Jim's shocked expression catches my eye and I turn directly to him. He needs to hear me more than anyone, and he needs to hear me loud and clear. "Jim, I called off my wedding because of you. And now we're not even friends. And things are just like weird between us, and that sucks. And I miss you. You were my best friend before you went to Stamford, and I really miss you—" Okay, I've said that twice now. Hopefully that makes up for a year ago when I told him something else twice:

"_I can't…"_

It wasn't that I couldn't be with him; it was that I couldn't face everyone else. I hate that I was too scared to get what I wanted that night, but I hope he doesn't see that same scared girl right now. I need him to look at me and recognize that I'm facing everyone, fighting for what I want with everything I have. I shake my head, "I shouldn't have been with Roy. And there were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding. But the truth is, I didn't care about any of those reasons until I met you. And now you're with someone else. And that's—fine. It's—whatever. That's not what—I'm not..."

What am I getting myself into? The feeling is fully back in my feet now and I can't ignore it, "Okay, my feet really hurt." Focus. Time to save a little bit of my dignity: "The thing that I'm just trying to say to you, Jim... and to everyone else in the circle I guess, is that I miss having fun with you." No, that actually just applied to Jim. "Just you, not everyone in the circle." That's better.

I think I said everything I wanted; they all look thoroughly stunned and confused, so I think I accomplished what I wanted to—Holy crap, my feet! I need relief, fast. "Okay, I am going to go walk in the water now… Yeah. It's a good day." I hurry toward the lake with a wide smile on my face; the proverbial ten-ton weight is finally off my back. There are no more guesses now; all the thoughts and feelings I've been storing up for years have been released. Now everyone knows just where I stand. Now it's up to everyone else to react. I place my swelling feet in the water and I take a heavy sigh. It feels good to breathe and finally be at peace.

…

I told him down by the water that I wished he'd come back, but I didn't think such a literal situation would present itself. Here he is, interrupting my interview with Claire, back from his job interview in the city. He smiles at me, and I immediately feel our connection again, like that smile is only for me. Yep, he's finally _back_, and he's asking me to dinner. He's—he's asking me to dinner! I can feel my breathing getting heavier and my mind is racing, but I know the answer to his question before I even realize I'm saying it:

"Yes."

I should've stood up for myself a long time ago.

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_The offer for a personalized reply still stands; I would review if I were you._


	13. Artistic Expression

_A/N: soo… let's not make this awkward cause we haven't seen each other in a while. I admit I had writer's block for a while and then got busy with school, so I wasn't able to post this until now. I did cheat on this story with a JAM wedding story, but that's over now, and I'm back to this one. So let's try to move on and continue with this plotline, shall we? Thank you, you guys are the best, hehe. Enjoy!_

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"Hi Marion," I greet the elderly woman at the front desk of the community center, whose name I now know, and she gives me a smile. 

"Hi dear… Here for class?"

"Yep. It's the last one!" I beam proudly. After this class ends, I will have taken four classes through the community center. All my instructors have told me how much I've improved from week to week and how I should look into more formal art classes; I don't know if I'm good enough for all that, but it's a nice compliment all the same. I wave goodbye to Marion and head toward the classroom.

I walk briskly down the hall and enter a small room filled with tables pushed against the walls and easels everywhere. I greet some people who I know from the various courses I've taken and begin to set up my own easel. I used to feel like such an outcast, a mere wannabe in these classes full of people who I thought were much more talented than I, but now I feel like I fit in flawlessly. I've just finished mixing my paints as class is about to start, and then I continue to fill in my current masterpiece with color: it's a rather abstract painting I like to call, "Bobble-dead."

I giggle as I think about the look on Dwight's face when he saw all of his bobble heads arranged as though staplers and letter openers had killed them. Boy, did he get mad. I fear Jim may have gone too far with that prank. Not that I didn't play an integral role, but I've always seen myself only as an accomplice to his schemes. He was the one who had shoved Dwight's favorite one, the one Angela gave him, one into a desk drawer with only it's bobbling head horrifyingly sticking out to greet Dwight. He nearly dropped his mug of coffee when he saw it, which is what gave me the inspiration to depict the poor bobble head's death on canvas.

Things are going surprisingly well with Jim. It's not like I expected things to go badly, but I certainly didn't expect them to go so great either. The first few times we went out I was really nervous, and I could almost feel my heart flutter every time he smiled at me. He's been great about making me feel comfortable though, and so we made the transition from just friends to something more almost effortlessly. We did have to work through all the normal couples' stuff: how much space we need from each other, who pays for things if we go out, and he was surprisingly adamant that I not leave personal items in his bathroom. We eventually compromised on that issue, and I now have a demure bag of toiletries stored in a drawer under his sink.

Claire found us out in no time when they started filming again. I have a feeling Kevin tipped her off, because he's been unusually sneaky lately, even for him. She couldn't have been happier though, especially after keeping a close eye on us for over two years; she told us that if she hadn't been bound by the network to keep her conversations with us confidential, we would've gotten together a long time ago. She and the camera crew promised they wouldn't say anything, which is a big relief; Michael would definitely blow the whole thing way out of proportion.

Ugh. I take my paintbrush off the canvas as I recall our "fun" run a week ago. I don't know what's worse, seeing Michael without his pants on or seeing him throw up fettuccini alfredo… Both make my gag reflex spasm a bit. Truth be told, I'm getting really tired of putting up with him, and I don't know how much more harassment I can take. I thought my outburst at the beach a few months ago would show him that he had to shape up and treat me—and all of his employees—with more respect, but sadly, he hasn't wised up yet. I blame his thick skull.

"Pam, this looks very nice!" my instructor, Colleen, comments as she examines my work. "I love how you really played with the browns and yellows… It really makes that menacing face almost jump out at you."

"That's what I was going for," I reply, stifling a giggle, and she nods in approval.

Then she pulls out a pink flier from her pocket, "I thought you would be interested in this." She unfolds the paper and hands it to me; it's a flier for a local college. "I have a friend who teaches in the fine arts program there, and she says that you'd still have time to apply."

"Oh, I…" I stare at the paper, flattered that Colleen would think of me and recommend me to go, but I don't know if I am cut out for all of that. I can hear the words, _'motel art'_ ringing in the back of my mind, and it makes me want to whimper away from the art world in shame.

Still…

Colleen laughs, "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that, but I think your talent is one that can be molded into something very great, and I would hate to see an opportunity for you go by the wayside."

"Oh, right. Thanks," I smile at her and she gives me a nod back before moving on to another student. I look back at my portrait of the decapitated Dwight bobble head and ponder the flier in my hands. I need a second opinion.

…

"Well, what's it all about?" he asks, and before I have a chance to answer, he tells me, "I think you should do it." I giggle at him and watch him look at the flier in more detail as I play with the saltshaker on his kitchen counter. He reads, "Marywood University Art Department offers degrees in graphic design, illustration, interior architecture, photography, ceramics, painting, and sculpture, as well as art administration, art therapy, and art education… Applicants are required to submit a portfolio of 12-15 works in an array of mediums as well as a personal essay that describes their goals and how those goals relate to their chosen discipline…"

He continues to read silently and I give a heavy sigh, thinking about what he's just said. It's the personal essay part that I think scares me the most. My artwork has gotten better and better over the past year, so I know I could pick twelve to fifteen pieces for a portfolio with my eyes closed. But to write my goals down on paper for the whole world to see? What if I never reach my goals? I'm scared the admissions committee will take one look at my essay and laugh, like my art could never be good enough for the goals I have in mind. I wish I could tell them, 'that's where you guys come in!' But that sounds cheesy.

"You have to do this, Bees. It sounds amazing." He looks at me with wide, hopeful eyes and I can't help but look down to my hands now folded in my lap. I start to play with my fingernails, but he knows this gesture means I'm nervous, and so he reaches out and grabs my hands and brings them up to the counter. "Why wouldn't you do it?"

"Well, I just—" What can I tell him that he hasn't heard before? He knows I'm scared to go after the things I want, and I'll even talk myself out of it if I let myself. "What if they don't think I'm good enough?"

"Pam, you know that's crazy, right? Well, not crazy, but I mean, why would your instructor recommend you to this program if you weren't good enough?" I shrug, and sensing that I'm still letting myself be defeated, he continues, "Is it the essay? Cause I know I wouldn't be able to write down my goals. My current career goal is to not be working at Dunder Mifflin in ten years. Is that a good enough goal?" I laugh at his attempt to lighten my mood, and he smiles when he sees he's succeeded. It amazes me that he can talk me off of any ledge, and I suddenly feel more open to discussing my doubts.

"Okay, well, I don't know if you know this, but I don't want to be a receptionist forever."

"No way."

"What can I say? I'm a rebel." I giggle at my own joke and watch him laugh along. He's looking at me with alert eyes that let me know he's really listening to me, and I feel so appreciative for that. I can't say anyone's been that receptive to me before, and now that the two of us are closer than ever, there's a level of comfort there that makes me feel free to express myself to him. I continue, "And well, I've always been really interested in graphic design, like logos and stuff—" he nods at me. "And I think some of my drawings have that graphic feel to them, but I need more training on like, technical skills, and terminology, and just the whole business aspect of it I guess…"

He finishes my sentence, "Which is where the school comes in and you learn all that stuff."

"Exactly! But I need a better way to say that."

He puts his chin in his hand and thinks for a moment, and then comes around to the side of the counter I'm on and gives me a kiss on the forehead. "Listen. You handle the full brunt of Michael Scott on a daily basis. I'm sure you can come up with a creative way to articulate your goals on paper. You just have to let them in on your thinking a little." He gives me a lop-sided grin and then tells me, "Okay, we're going to dinner to celebrate."

"What are we celebrating?"

"You. And your future success." He gives me a look like I should've known how obvious that answer was and I smile back at him. "Come on." I grab my purse and we are out the door.

…

I'm sitting on my bed, staring at the blank document on my laptop screen. How do I start this essay?

_My art—_

Delete.

_I've always wanted—_

Delete delete delete.

_Art has always been a guiding—_

Delete. Delete delete. Delete. I look around my room at all the memories hanging on walls and sitting on shelves. Picture frames and other sentimental pieces crowd the ledges, and I smile, recalling the memory attached to each one. I notice one in particular of Jim, Michael, and Dwight with their hands over their hearts, wearing their yogurt lid medals proudly with paper doves in the background. One of my own medals is delicately draped over the corner of the picture, and then it comes to me. I begin to type almost feverishly:

_I consider myself a passionate person. One may not guess it by observation, but if they were to look on long enough, they will undoubtedly see touches of passion. I have a way of taking the most obscure articles, like a yogurt lid or a paper clip, and giving them a sentimental purpose. This is how I draw inspiration for my art: I turn the mundane into something emotional, the overlooked into appealing, and the lackluster into electrifying._

_Do not get me wrong; I am not an artist to be courageous and to spur social change. But I do want for people to see the beauty in a simple object or bit of scenery, and perhaps to even take a new outlook on something they've seen every day, like a building. Buildings are everywhere. They are quadrangular, they are gray, and they are often seen as cold. But I see a building as a place from which memories are formed. Every window is someone's to look out from, and every space in the parking lot holds nostalgia. I strive to solidify those memories and sentimentalities into my works, and I would not be able to succeed at this without passion._

_If a client were to come to me with an idea for a logo, I would try to see beyond the mere dimensions and colors of it; it would be essential to me to see its sentimental value to the client. I would catch his or her passion as if it were contagious, and be able to create something so eye-catching that everyone would have to take notice. Right now though, my passion needs to be harnessed. If I can learn to channel my passion, I will truly become a great artist._

I sit back and look at what I've just written. It's between 250 and 300 words, just as the requirements stated it should be, and does discuss my goals, however indirectly. They aren't my professional goals to say the least, but they are my goals for my art, and they let readers in on my artistic philosophy, as well as my life philosophy to some extent. I smile at my essay, content with the result, and hit 'save.'

…

I'm a little in shock. I just turned in an application to get $20,000 in student loans. With the interest rate I got cheated on in the deal and my current receptionist's salary, I won't be able to pay them off for another ten years. But that's why I'm taking out the loans in the first place, right? I mean I'm going to school so I can get a degree and be hired at a studio that pays me a lot more than what I'm getting now. I'm chasing after my goals, and it feels good. I get back to the office just in time for my lunch break to be over, and sure enough, here comes Michael, ready to bother me.

"Hey Pam sandwich. How was lunch?"

"Uh, good. I went to the bank—"

"Not robbing it I hope! Oh! Watch out! Pigs be flyin!" Michael tries his best to hold back the giggles, but his efforts are futile. I try to ignore him and check my email.

"Uh, no, I actually applied to take out student loans."

His eyes widen, "Oh really? My little girl's goin off to college?"

I sigh, "I'm not your little girl, Michael. And yes, I got into art school. I'm going for graphic design."

"Very cool, very cool…" Michael lingers at my desk for a moment and then asks, "So what's the going rate for one of your designs? Cause I've been thinking about revamping my movie production logo…" A smile creeps across my face, half proud of myself for not being too afraid to follow my dreams, and half curious as to exactly how much money I could squander from my boss. Maybe my student loans will be paid off faster than expected.

* * *

_I hope this makes up for what you've been missing for the past month or so guys. Thanks especially to my homegirl, MrsBigTuna, for the beta. She has a couple of new stories in the works, so you should go check those out! Furthermore, I wanted to let you know that I just want to be friends… plus a little extra. Also I love you. Especially if you review._


	14. One Sunday Morning

_A/N: I'd like to call this chapter, 'getting back to my roots,' because for a while I tried to really stray away from the JAM fluff that is basically everywhere on this site… but this time, I just couldn't help myself. What more can I say? I have no other excuse. Go read, review, and enjoy!_

* * *

My eyes are still closed, but I can tell I'm awake. I almost don't want to acknowledge the sunlight streaming through the curtains and accept that my weekend is almost over. At least my Sundays are enjoyable.

I used to loathe Sundays. I knew I would have to get all my household chores done and get ready for another insufferable week at work, but recently Jim's been making me stay in bed with him until at least noon. He says there's no reason to rush, because it's not like I have classes or work to get up and go to, and I guess he's right. I always end up doing my laundry at the last possible second on Sundays now, but he's made it worth the hassle. I knew he was a bad influence.

I hug the pillow and turn myself over to find him lying right up next to me; he is icy cold, and it makes my eyes shoot open to feel his chilly skin. It's not like I was hogging the covers or anything—he says I tend to do that sometimes—because he's got his whole body covered in them. I keep my arm resting against his as I watch his chest rise and fall.

I keep my gaze on him breathing and take in the musky smell of his sheets. I love to watch him sleeping, mostly because it's a revelation to see his expression vacant. He's always making faces, so it's a nice change to see his face blank of emotion, and sometimes with a little drool on the corner of his lips. I know if he ever caught himself with drool on his face he'd be really embarrassed, so I treat it kind of like a playful secret between me and the early morning. He'll never know I relish those nuances of who he is when he isn't awake as well as when he is.

My eyes are getting heavier, so I close them and feel the blood rushing through the veins of his arm at a steady pace. I feel so tranquil knowing he's beside me, and smile to myself as the thought comes to me that this is what I've always secretly wanted, and what I was subconsciously wishing Roy would be for me but never was. Even though he's fast asleep, I know somehow that he always has me on his mind, and it's serene to have something so secure and comfortable like that. I know it's still early and he won't wake up for at least another hour or two, so even though all I want to do is wrap my arms up in him, I bury my eyes in my pillow and slowly let myself drift off. There will be time to cuddle later.

xxx

I open my eyes and look at the clock on the nightstand. Another hour has passed, and we are lying back to back now. I readjust my sheets and shift myself to feel another part of his backside, which is frosty compared to the part I was leaning against. How can he be so cold?! I push some hair from my face and wipe my eyes, and then realize he's moving, so I freeze, unsure if I should play like I'm sleeping or like I've been waiting for him to get up. He then turns over and wraps me up in his arms, his icy cold chest pressed against my warm back. Shivers are sent down my spine, but I know he'll warm up soon enough.

He breathes against my neck, making those stray hairs that I tucked behind my ear fly back into my face, which annoys me a little, but not nearly enough to do anything about it. His hand dangles over my stomach and is dangerously close to tickling me, but I decide not to do anything about that either and just let him be. Instead I entwine my fingers in his and close my eyes, soaking up every touch and movement he makes, knowing that Sunday mornings only come once a week. Every other day we have to get up and go to work, if we even sleep over at each other's places at all during the week. I miss him on those mornings, and usually end up hugging a pillow, which is hardly a good replacement. Before I realize it, I'm back asleep again.

xxx

I smile and open my eyes. He's gently kissing my neck and stroking my thigh. I turn my head and place my hand on his stubbly chin, and then I let out a large yawn.

"Morning, stinky breath," he comments, and I shut my mouth tight, letting another yawn in through my nose. He laughs at me and starts to tickle my sides, causing my body to spasm. I try to lock myself into the fetal position as I beg him to stop through my laughter, and he eventually does, but not very willingly. I turn into him and run my fingers through his hair before burying my head in his shoulder. He laughs at me and asks, "You wanna get up?" and I shake my head no. He is perfectly content with that.

And so we lay like that, his large body engulfing mine in a dozing embrace. I try closing my eyes, but it's no use. I'm wide awake now, and so I open them again and stroke his chest softly, my fingers running over his downy hairs. He grabs my hand and tells me that tickles, and so I tell him, "Payback's a bitch." He laughs and devours my hand in kisses, then slowly moves over to my lips. He wraps his arms around me and that's when I notice he's not cold anymore. He is in fact the exact opposite, and his kisses suggest he wants me to be as warm as he is. Needless to say, I don't fight it.

xxx

"Okay, so we have Kix, Fruity Pebbles, and this box of Special K Vanilla and Almond that I accidentally bought two months ago—" he tells me as he rummages through his cabinets, scouring the shelves for cereal.

I scrunch up my face, "Vanilla and almond?"

"It's about as appetizing as it sounds…" He sets the other two choices on the counter and I grab the orange Kix box. He of course goes for the Fruity Pebbles.

I inquire, "Is there a prize at the bottom?"

"Hardly," he scoffs. "They make you collect the proofs of purchase now and send in for the prize." He looks at the box, "Not worth it for a 'Fairly Oddparents Light Up Wand.'"

"I dunno, that sounds pretty cool…"

"It would be cool if it actually worked. Like, if it could turn Dwight into a beet, or… seal Michael's mouth shut so we don't have to listen to him all day—"

I bite my lip from excitement, "That would be amazing! Let's find one that does that."

"I'll put it on my do-to list." He sits down beside me and we begin to munch, looking up and smiling at each other every so often. I knock my leg against his playfully, and so he places his hand of my thigh and scratches it, and then I get the feeling we should be filmed for an Animal Planet documentary or something. I can see it now: 'Mating Rituals of Northeastern American Homo Sapiens,' now in four, three-hour long parts. Or, anthropologists could just study all the footage from the documentary crew that's been in our office for a few years now. I think if I'm ever asked, that's what I'll refer them to.

We slurp up the last of the milk from our bowls and he takes them and puts them in the sink. Then it's back to bed for a little while. This is my favorite part of the morning, because it seems like we should get dressed and get on with our day, but instead we greedily retreat back to the covers for a couple more hours of closeness. This is how we don't manage to get wrapped up in silly things during the week that don't matter, because we talk with each other and have that time to check in. I know I appreciate it at least, or else I'd leave to go do laundry right after breakfast.

"So your semester is almost over?" he asks as he runs his fingers through my hair. We're lying on our sides, facing each other, and talking in a soft whisper. It' not like we're going to wake anyone up, it's just more intimate that way. Our legs are tangled up in each other.

"Yeah… just a couple more weeks and I'll have finished my animation courses."

"I love watching you animate," he smiles. "You get this look on your face like you're really really focused… Maybe I've just never seen that face before—"

"Yeah, cause I'm never _that_ focused at work—"

He laughs, "Exactly. But it's very… inspirational."

I roll my eyes and chuckle, "Oh yeah, right—"

"I'm serious… You know, I've been starting to do some sports-blogging."

"What! No way!" I gasp and sit up, resisting the urge to grab his computer off his desk and scour it for articles. I'm excited that he's doing this; he doesn't take a lot of chances with things, but every so often he'll go for it, and it makes me proud of him to know he's following his dreams too.

"Well," he tries to laugh it off like it's no big deal. "Blogging _is_ the wave of the future and all..." He looks down, a little embarrassed at himself, but I take his hand and squeeze it tight, and so he looks up at me.

"I think that's really cool. What do you write about?"

"Well, it's the playoffs for basketball right now, so I've been following that pretty closely—do you, wanna see some of it?"

I smirk at him, "Absolutely I do."

xxx

We've spent most of our morning looking through Jim's blogs, or as he goes by on the internet, 'Phillie Jim'. He's got a bunch of them posted, all about different stuff dating back as far as the Superbowl. Most of them deal with stuff coaches have said a press conferences, predictions that anchors on ESPN made for different games, and sometimes an amazing play in the games themselves. People have actually written him comments as well, and it's fun to see how total strangers react to him. People think his writing is really funny—'poignant,' one comment said—and the way he talks about all of it, you can tell he loves it.

"And so, they can't _just_ rely on LeBron in these crucial games, you know? Eventually that's going to catch up with them, especially if Mike Brown keeps benching his vets… Sorry, is this boring you?" I look up at him with wide eyes. It _is_ boring me a little, but I don't want to tell him that. He's so excited about this! He laughs at me and closes his laptop, "We don't have to talk about it anymore, but thanks for listening."

"Of course," I smile at him and he gives me a big hug.

We hold each other for a few minutes and then he says softly, "I can't believe the weekend is almost over."

I sigh, "I know. But we have a lifetime of Sundays to spend together." He loosens his grasp on me and gives me a curious expression. Then I think about the words I just let slip. Of _course_ I've thought about being with him for the rest of my life, but it's not like I've been doodling his name in hearts in my sketchbooks or anything. I've been thinking about it realistically, like how we're both approaching 30 and need to start making some decisions about where things are going. I want kids soon, and my house with a terrace, and now even a career seems in reach. It's all coming together for me, but does he feel like that too? Am I what he would want for the rest of his life? Even though I'm eager for his response, I wait patiently and smile slightly at him, letting him know I'm standing by what I said.

"A whole lifetime of Sundays in bed with the girl I love… Hmm…" He smiles at me and pulls me in for a kiss. It's soft and short, but it's full of depth and assurance. When we pull away, he finishes his sentence, "Just what I've always wanted."

Oh yeah, we're definitely on the same page.

* * *

_Oh so fluffly and fuzzy and cute. I hope all of you out there enjoyed it, and if you did, let me know for goodness sakes! I'm actually thinking the next chapter might be my last, mainly because I want to move on to bigger and better things, and I've had this ending in my head from when I first started this fic and I'm eager to post it. Want to know what it'll be? Review this one and make it worth my while to post it!_


	15. My Last Day at the Office

_A/N: this is the last chapter ya'll! Sobs. I hope you enjoy the conclusion; it's definitely a culmination of everything else I've written for this story. And in the words of Ms. Beesly herself, 'what a long, strange trip it's been.' Hehe. Read, review, and enjoy!_

* * *

"Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam," I sigh in my monotone voice. It's been a pretty uneventful Monday, especially after this past weekend.

I graduated from Marywood on Friday with a BA in graphic design. My parents came to graduation, Michael gave everyone the afternoon off to go to the ceremony, and on Saturday, Jim hosted a huge barbeque in my honor to celebrate. It was so much fun to have everyone who cares about me there to congratulate me, and Michael even got me _Oh, The Places You'll Go _as a graduation gift. He said _Green Eggs and Ham_ was much more inspiring to him, but whatever. It's Michael, and so I've learned just not to even ask anymore.

Now that I've actually got my degree though, I have no idea where to begin looking for a job. I've been on and other sites like that looking up jobs in graphic design studios, but I've been kind of scared to apply. The truth is, even with all its quirks, I love this place and all the people in it. I know I should move on to bigger and better things, but I can't bring myself to leave all these people behind. It's not so unusual to want to stick with the familiar, and so I guess I'm kind of waiting for the branch to close or something and be pushed out of the nest.

"Pam, David Wallace here," the CFO says to me on the other end of the line.

"Hi David, let me transfer you to Michael—"

"Uh, no—Pam, I actually wanted to speak with you."

"Oh," is all I manage to say as my heart jumps into my chest. I don't think I've ever spoken with David Wallace for more than thirty seconds; what could he possibly want to talk to me about?

"So here's the deal—and, just so you know, the information I'm about to share with you is strictly on a need-to-know basis…"

"Oh, right. Totally." Did I just say 'totally' to the CFO of our company? Oh boy, am I nervous. I glance around the room and then duck my head down to listen in.

He continues, "Dunder Mifflin, in an effort to boost sales, is coming out with its own line of office products—pens, pencils, paper—everything is going to have our company's personal touch on it."

"Oh, great—"

"Well that's not the best part—" he tells me. I can see Jim eyeing me, curious as to what's going on, but I motion to him that he's got to wait. "The best part is, we get to hire an art director to design this new line of products, and so of course, Ryan and I thought of you and the work that you did for Dunder Mifflin Infinity—"

"Wow," I catch my breath as I realize the scope of what he's talking about. "I'm really flattered."

"The board will be approving the funds for this new position today, so while I can't _officially_ offer you the job yet, I want you to know that when the position is publicly available, we would love for you to fill it."

I shake my head and say again, "Wow, David, that is amazing. What—do you know any of the details about it yet? Or…"

"Well, I can tell you you would be working in our corporate offices here in New York—" I look back at Jim, who is still watching me closely. Moving to New York would be a monumental change, but I try not to think about it and keep listening as David continues, "I'm estimating designing the new line would take about a year or year and a half, and after that we would keep you on for upkeep of the product line and whatever other opportunities come up, design-wise… And, as for the salary, we were thinking about 45-50,000 a year, benefits, the whole corporate package… How does all of this sound to you?"

"It sounds…" How many different words can I think of to describe what's being offered to me? Amazing! Stellar! A miracle! But also, really _really_ scary. This is definitely being pushed out of the nest. It is a fantastic opportunity, but I certainly need to talk it over with Jim. After all, we're making decisions together now, and this is a decision that would greatly impact the both of us. "It sounds wonderful, but… do I have to say yes right now?"

David laughs, "No, no, I know it was a lot to spring on you, and I want to you to have time to mull over it. How much time do you think you'll need?"

"Um…" I glance at the clock; it's 11:30. "I need until after lunch."

"Alright," David laughs again. "Well the board is making their decision at three, so how about I call at the end of the day and officially offer the position to you?"

"Sounds great," I tell him, trying my best to maintain my composure and not draw too much attention to myself. "Thank you, David."

"No, thank _you_," he tells me, and we say our goodbyes. I hang up the phone and stare off into space, shaking my head in shock. Jim motions with his hands, asking me if I want to get out of here and get some lunch. Is he kidding? Absolutely I do.

xxx

"Wow."

"Yeah, that's all I could say too," I laugh at him as we munch on a basket of curly fries at Cugino's.

He thinks for a moment and then tells me, "Okay, so, upside: _huge_ pay raise, the chance to design a whole line of office products, you already know a lot of the people you'll be working with, and _technically_, you'd be higher on the pecking order than Michael." He gives me a suggestive smirk and I can't help but giggle.

"Okay, okay, but downside: I would have to move to New York… and _you_—"

"I'd follow you," he responds quickly, smiling. I can feel my mouth gaping open but I can't seem to shut it. He'd come with me to New York?

I shake my head slightly, breaking myself from my bewildered trance, "R-really? You would?"

"Yeah, I mean—" he scoffs, "Of course I would. Look, I can sell paper or, do _whatever_ anywhere, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you… and, I don't want to do the whole, long-distance thing, you know?" He takes my hand, "If we're going to _really_ do this, like stay together and plan our future and everything, then I don't wanna do it halfway… so yeah, I'd move there with you."

I look into his eyes and I can tell he's scared to do this, but is tenacious on his decision. He's committed, and is essentially putting all his faith in me, and my ability to give him support when we're both alone in a new city. My thoughts jump back several years when I did exactly what he's about to embark on right now. I've been in his shoes, except the person in my shoes now wasn't very supportive of me while I was settling in. That's how I ended up sitting here with a new man.

Now understanding the risk he's willing to take, I assure him, "Look, I promise I won't get too wrapped up in my new job or anything and… It's gonna be a big change for both of us, but I swear I'm going to be there for you every step of the way. Even when things get tough—"

"I know," he cuts me off, squeezing my hand a little. "I trust you. Otherwise, I wouldn't bother."

I take a deep sigh, realizing the enormous decision that lies in front of me. It essentially determines the rest of my life, but then again, all the choices I've made up until now have affected my life in pretty unbelievable ways, so why is this one any different? I look up, and there he is, smiling at me with confidence. I smile back at him, and know I've made up my mind.

"I trust you too… So, we're in this together," I tell him, mirroring his confident smile, and the check arrives at our table.

xxx

I keep glancing at the clock, waiting quite impatiently for the phone to ring. Never in all my days working at Dunder Mifflin have I wanted the phone to ring so badly. I try to busy myself with a game of FreeCell, but it's no use. The worst part is that only Jim knows about it, and so the both of us have to act as though we're not waiting for the call that will have an incredible impact on both of our lives.

He comes up for a jellybean, "Is this killing you?"

"Yes!" I sigh exasperatedly. "You have no idea."

"Oh, I have an idea…" he raises his eyebrows at me as he pops a jellybean into his mouth. Then Michael strolls out of his office, an idiotic grin plastered on his face. No doubt he's coming to annoy me.

He comes up to the both of us, "Hey you two, you know the rules… no PDA!" He stifles a giggle and the two of us exchange a glance.

"We weren't, uh..."

"We were just talking, Michael," I give him an irritated glare, but he takes no notice.

He holds up a stack of papers, "Well Pam, just to make sure you're working and not making out with your boyfriend," he gives Jim a sly smile, "I want these copied in triplicate." The stack of papers slams on my desk and he walks back into his office, satisfied with his how he's managed us.

"Looks like you've got work to do," Jim says as he steals another jellybean and goes to sit back down. I sigh and take the papers to the copier. This will definitely keep me occupied.

I start to run the papers through the copy machine when the phone rings. Nearly tripping over myself, lunge at the phone and pick up the receiver, trying to sound composed, "Dunder Mifflin—"

"Pam? Hi, David Wallace—"

"Oh! Hi!" I shriek too excitedly to sound at all professional.

He chuckles, "Well, I just got out of the board meeting, and I'm happy to say they have unanimously approved the funds for the creation of a new line of office products."

"Great!" I shout again, this time somewhat poised.

"And that means, I am pleased to offer you the position of art director on the new line."

"Wow, thank you, David…" I see Jim smiling at me and I exhale all the doubt out of my body before answering, "_I_ am pleased to accept."

"Great!" David responds excitedly. "Just give us a few days to finalize the contract, and then we'll have you up here for an official hiring with HR, and you can begin in as early as two weeks from now... And let me just say, it is wonderful to be hiring someone within the Dunder Mifflin family."

"Oh I know. Thank you so much for the opportunity, David."

"The pleasure is all mine," he pauses for a moment, "We'll be in touch."

"Okay, bye." I hang up the phone, almost in shock of what I've just done. And then a big smile grows on my face and I give Jim an ecstatic air high-five.

xxx

"So Pam," Claire shuffles through her notes and I adjust myself in my seat. It's my last interview with her, and I can't help but feel a little melancholy about the whole thing. She's helped me a lot in getting where I am now. "Word around the office is you have a new job…"

"Yeah, uh, I was offered a position at corporate, actually, as an art director."

Claire nods in approval and then asks, "Are you nervous?"

"Um, a little, yeah…" I admit to her as I play with my fingernails, but then I look up at her, "But I'm optimistic. I know I'll be able to do the job, and I know this company and what they're looking for. And I'll have Jim there—"

"He's moving with you?"

I can feel my face smiling uncontrollably, but I can't stop it, "Yeah. He's going to find another job in New York. We're both pretty confident he'll be able to find something..."

"Pam, do you consider yourself lucky?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you just got your degree and you already have a great new job in New York. Your boyfriend is willing to move there with you… Everything seems to be falling into place for you. Do you think it's because of luck?"

I think for a moment, "No... I think I just make good choices. Well, not good choices—like maybe some weren't the right ones—but I wouldn't have gotten here without making some wrong choices too… I just, was able to see the right choice for me at the time I made it, and so all of those decisions led me to a good place."

She smiles at me knowingly before realizing, "One more question—"

"Sure."

"Do you think we can come and film you at corporate sometimes? You know, just to check in… We do it with Ryan a lot—"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely," I beam at her and then she signals to the cameraman to cut.

xxx

"Julie, this is your desk," Dwight instructs a young girl with a black cardigan and dress pants on as he motions to what used to be my desk. Now it's virtually a blank slate, ready for the next receptionist to occupy. I have all my belongings packed up in a box, next to a box full of Jim's belongings. It's the last day for both of us.

"You're replacing Pam," Dwight tells her and motions to me accusingly as I sit in Jim's swivel chair. "_She_ decided her _career_ was more important to her than this company."

I try to protest, "I'll still be working at this company, Dwight. Just not in Scranton—"

"Zip your lid!" he whispers harshly to me and then turns back to Julie. "Michael Scott, our manager, will be excited to meet you. You can take a seat for now." She does, and Dwight takes a seat at his desk as Jim comes up to me.

He places a hand on my shoulder, "Well, I just finished all the necessary paperwork with Toby… I officially don't work here anymore."

"Congratulations," I smile up at him and he kisses me on the forehead. Then both of us hear sobs coming from Michael's office.

"I knew it would come eventually, but—" he sniffles, "But it's still so hard!" We watch him collapse on his desk and exchange a glance.

The both of us reluctantly enter his office, and Jim retorts, "That's what she said."

Michael looks up at the two of us, snot dripping from his nose, "That doesn't even work today Jim. Now that the two of you are leaving, who am I going to hang with? Dwight?" He sticks out his tongue, disgusted with the idea, and finally wipes his nose. And then I know what I have to do.

"Michael," I join him on his side of the desk and kneel down to his stooped-over level, "Just because we're leaving, doesn't mean you can't visit and stuff. And we hope…" I give a quick look to Jim and continue, "We hope you'll still be in our lives."

"Really?" He looks at me with wide eyes and I nod. And then he takes me in his arms and gives me a somewhat lengthy hug. After he does the same with Jim, he escorts us out of the office and we listen to the final announcement we'll ever hear from Michael Scott: "Attention everyone, Jim and Pam are leaving now, so come say your goodbyes and wish them luck for when they move to the Big Apple."

We receive well wishes and warm sendoffs, and even a few tears, and finally it's time to go. We pick up our boxes and Michael and Dwight escort us out of the office, but before I leave, I make sure to whisper to Julie, "Good luck here. This place could change your life." She smiles softly at me and I grab Jim's hand as I turn to leave, knowing full well that I have truly followed my heart.

* * *

_Thanks so much to my incredible chapter-by-chapter reviewers: MrsBigTuna, __maddikinz940, dancer288, kerber1920, Froody, Adam Matthews, wonderworm, Bravery0898, and pambeesly! Whew! I have so enjoyed all your reviews, and I can't express to you enough how much they mean to me. Just know that they do and that you guys are my heroes._

_On that note, if you enjoy my stuff, let me know! I have a lot of different kinds of stories floating around out here in cyberspace (mostly because I post my experimental stories with little to no second thought or revision), so if you find one you like, sing my praises. You may just see more like it soon enough. I also encourage you to check out some of my favorite authors and stories; I'm going to brag a little and say I have compiled an excellent selection of them. Would I steer you wrong?_

_And finally, as usual with my multi-chapter stories, I wish upon you this adage from Spring Awakening (one of the best musicals ever): "Peace and joy be with you, harmony and wisdom." Thanks, lovelies!!_


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